You Are the Moon
by Grimrose Eilwynn
Summary: A red-haired young girl, silent, battered, and beaten, Estelle Rose Potter is under a lot of pressure from her aunt and uncle to be perfect. Her one solace is her art. But Estelle's life is about to change drastically. Slowly, she grows from the abused byproduct of a wealthy but dysfunctional household and into a powerful witch. Fem Harry story. Eventual Tom/Estelle, Draco/Estelle.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes:_ Just what I need. A new story. But I love Harry Potter and I love fem stories and I had to do one. So, sorry. I am still working on my other fics.

This story's avatar was made by viria13 on DeviantArt. (There is also a link to her Tumblr on her DeviantArt!) Go check her out. Beautiful artwork.

Harry Potter are not belong to me. Harry Potter are belong to JK Rowling.

This is not a songfic. The song lyrics at the beginning are only meant to explain the story's title. Sorry all the stanzas run together like that. FF is stupid.

This story is rated M for child abuse. The first chapter is very dark.

* * *

 _"Shadows all around you as you surface from the dark_

 _Emerging from the gentle grip of night's unfolding arms_

 _Darkness, darkness everywhere, do you feel all alone?_

 _The subtle grace of gravity, the heavy weight of stone?_

 _You don't see what you possess, a beauty calm and clear_

 _It floods the sky and blurs the darkness like a chandelier_

 _All the light that you possess is skewed by lakes and seas_

 _The shattered surface, so imperfect, is all that you believe_

 _I will bring a mirror, so silver, so exact_

 _So precise and so pristine, a perfect pane of glass_

 _I will set the mirror up to face the blackened sky_

 _You will see your beauty every moment that you rise"_

 _\- "You Are the Moon" by The Hush Sound_

* * *

1.

It was not the sort of place you would expect child abuse to come from.

Everyone had certain expectations, Estelle had noticed, of what an abusive family looked like. The family was usually poor, perhaps drunken, outwardly slovenly and always temperamental and violent. The abuse was always outwardly shown, usually physical, and it certainly never happened to a child who seemed privileged or who good things seemed to happen to. Estelle herself had not actually thought of her family as abusive until a teacher with knowing eyes had made her class watch a film on what child abuse consisted of in the third form. Eight-year-old Estelle had sat there, her eyes glued to the screen, listening attentively, and some of it had begun to ring oddly true for her. Ever since, she had always loved the classroom. There were other reasons she loved the classroom, too, but we'll get to those.

The teacher had never said anything, but Estelle always got the strangest feeling she had known. Teachers knew things in a way most other adults did not seem to. But the woman never said anything. Mrs Hammersmith had been her name. Perhaps she had not had enough evidence to go off of.

Estelle had never dared to enlighten anyone. She was a little afraid her uncle would kill her. She did not mean that figuratively.

But we digress. The house. It was a beautiful, spacious, two story white suburban house, with a neat little white picket fence, surrounding hedgerows, and a beautifully lined flower garden. Morning sunlight filtered through the bay window, past the curtains, and onto the living room: plush carpets, armchairs and a sofa in front of the television set, a wonderful red-brick fireplace, and in pride of place was a sleek, shining black grand piano. This was one of the only two pieces of evidence in the house - evidence that Estelle existed.

The other piece of evidence was a single, stiff family portrait on the far living room wall. Estelle stood there next to her aunt, uncle, and cousin, pale and unsmiling in a black dress. All the rest of the photos - most of them adoring, candid pictures - were of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's massive blond son Dudley.

It was June twenty-second, a Friday, and Estelle Rose Potter was just about to wake up.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The alarm clock that sat next to the old flip phone went off. Estelle hit her alarm and sat up. 5 AM. Most people did not get up immediately at 5 AM, but Estelle had incentive. That incentive took the form of her cousin. By now, it was just old habit to get up immediately as soon as dawn came.

Estelle brushed some spiders out of her hair sleepily and grabbed the light switch, pulling it on. A single naked bulb illuminated the tiny space: a stiff camp bed, a night stand with dresser drawers below it, and some built-in shelves full of various personal items were stuffed into the cupboard under the stairs, which was positively crawling with spiders and cobwebs, despite Estelle's best efforts to remove them. Estelle knew how to install shelving. Estelle knew how to do almost everything for herself. Her chores ranged from cooking and cleaning to flower gardening, mowing the lawn, pruning the hedges, repainting the garden supplies, cleaning the car, sewing, stitching, and doing around the house maintenance.

Basically, she did whatever nobody else wanted to do for the day.

Her cupboard was her home, the only place nobody ever went, and all of her favorite things were kept there. On the shelves were pieces of bone and wood jewelry she had made herself, old pairs of ice skates, sad old childhood toys (sewn together by hand by Estelle herself, ripped apart by her cousin Dudley, and then re-stitched with care), a few cookbooks, two books of world travel, saved chocolate truffle wrappers (from the few times in her life she'd been allowed sweets), a treasured audio tape and tape player carrying the sound of rainfall, collections of rocks, pebbles, crystals, and fossils, and a feather and flower pressing album. A violin in a case leaned in a corner. Hidden underneath her bed were collections of angry poetry and musical compositions, and drawings and paintings of surrealist cartoon caricatures. She hid them because her aunt and uncle wouldn't like them if they discovered them. They funded hobbies for her, to make themselves look good to the outside world, but it had to be on their terms. Still lifes, portrait sketches, classical music, poems about flowers. That kind of thing. Nothing imaginative or emotional. It was twisted logic, she knew, but all Dursley logic was twisted.

She dressed herself in an oyster white sweater and a knee-length skirt colored the shade of terra cotta. (Estelle was a red-headed Autumn, who looked good in leaf and swirl prints.) She pinned her hair back with a handmade bone-and-fang hair barrette. It was amazing she'd gotten the jewelry past her aunt and uncle, really, almost as amazing as the fact that she was allowed to do volunteer work at an animal shelter. But the jewelry made her look good, as did the work at an animal shelter, which additionally got her in with her Aunt Marge, supposedly, not that her Aunt Marge had ever actually liked her. (She set her bulldogs to attack Estelle whenever she came over to visit.) But that was what it was all about for the Dursleys. It was all about looking good.

Estelle did look good, without help, so she had that going for her. She was very pretty, with thick, dark red, shoulder length hair and pale skin. She had a long, straight nose and round hazel eyes. She was small and petite, though she suspected that was mainly because she wasn't fed very much - in any case, it looked good on a girl. Everyone complained about the overweight girls; no one ever complained about the skinny ones. The only thing Estelle didn't like about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She'd had it for as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," Aunt Petunia had snapped, "and don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions - the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. In any case, Estelle considered the mark disfiguring and she usually hid it with her fringe.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face in the upstairs bathroom, then went down the staircase into the kitchen and made breakfast for everyone. This was her morning chore. She had the meal finished before anyone else was even downstairs, had bolted down her breakfast and retreated back into her cupboard when she heard the first footsteps on the staircase.

She heard her Aunt Petunia's heels clack into the kitchen, heard her open the microwave, heard her sigh. "Odd little thing," she said scathingly, and she took out the plates of breakfast to put on the table.

Aunt Petunia had always thought Estelle was "odd" for avoiding Dudley's "teasing." Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia called it teasing. Usually it consisted of physical violence and humiliation. They laughed while it was happening. Like it was funny. A big joke.

Nothing Dudley did was imperfect for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. He was a perfect, smug extension of their perfect, smug selves.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley's heavier footsteps followed Aunt Petunia's into the kitchen. Estelle hid in her cupboard, listening attentively. She heard Uncle Vernon open the morning newspaper and command everyone not to disturb him while he read it, heard Aunt Petunia clink her china together, heard Dudley scarf down his food and demand more. With her gone, they were the perfect family: man in a three-piece suit, woman in perfect makeup and a house dress, and fat spoiled son.

And then, finally, came time for the dreaded walk to school. Dudley's first chance to attack her.

She grabbed her backpack and crept reluctantly into the entrance hall, her face sullen and careful. Dudley saw her and smirked, his fat face flushing, his eyes narrowing. And Estelle's face showed nothing - nothing at all. She called it her mask face.

"Have a good day at school, darling," said Aunt Petunia fondly, kissing her son on the cheek. Then she looked over and glared at Estelle, her nose wrinkling, as if her niece smelled bad.

"Go, girl," she said simply, and walked back into the kitchen.

Dudley began pushing and shoving Estelle the minute they were out the door. Her body so tense it hurt, her teeth grinding, she sped up to walk a little faster. Then she heard them start appearing beside Dudley. Dudley's gang: Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon. Slowly, one by one their footsteps joined Dudley on his walk to school, until all five of them were walking right behind her. A piercing silence filled the air.

Estelle saw a hand move and she bolted and ran, fast as she could, faster than flitting shadows.

They chased her down, thundering behind her, all the way into the classroom. Luckily, Estelle was much smaller and faster than they were, and she pushed and shoved people out of her way as she made campus and sprinted toward the safety of the classroom. If she was caught, she'd get the shit kicked out of her, and she knew it. Students moved out of her way quickly. Everyone knew Estelle Potter was a walking bully target, gaining the dubious honor of having the special attention of Dudley's Gang, and no one wanted to be too close to her. No one sat near her in class, no one picked her first in gym. And everyone certainly moved out of her way now.

She made it to the classroom, dark red hair mussed and pale cheeks flushed, out of breath, and she sat triumphantly down in her seat. Dudley stopped in the doorway, glaring resentfully at her brief triumph.

Estelle's abuse had rules. It was as regimented as everything else in the Dursleys' lives was. She was not allowed to be bothered when doing household chores (her aunt and uncle wanted good food and a clean house) or while in class or studying (her aunt and uncle demanded perfect grades - once more, to make themselves look good). So if Estelle timed it right, walking to school, lunch or recess at school, and dinner at home were really the only times she was at the mercy of Dudley's violence.

And if she was dutiful - which she usually was, also seeing chores and knowledge, academics, books, and learning as another reprieve from abuse - she only need worry about her aunt and uncle when she did something wrong. Like what, you might ask?

Let's put it this way. Strange things had always happened around Estelle. She would be running from Dudley and would suddenly find herself in unexpected places, things she disliked had the habit of mysteriously shrinking or disappearing (though this never seemed to apply to people, sadly), her hair regrew absurdly quickly every time it was cut boyishly short by Aunt Petunia, and when people made her angry, bizarre, embarrassing things tended to happen to them. One time a teacher was yelling at her and the teacher's wig had suddenly turned blue, flew off her head, and began zooming around the classroom. The thing was, no one had known the teacher's hair had been a wig. Oops.

Whenever something like this happened around Estelle - also, whenever she talked about impossibilities like dreams, imaginings, fantasies, or even cartoons - she would be locked into the cupboard under the stairs, often for days at a time and usually with little to no access to basic necessities like food, the bathroom (hence the bucket in a corner of the cupboard), or the bathtub. She had originally thought this completely unfair. How could she possibly control whether someone's wig turned blue?

But her readings for school had opened her mind up to alternative possibilities. For example, a teacher who liked her, after learning she was forbidden from reading fantasy books, let her read "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in his classroom at lunchtimes. From there, she nosedived into reading other fascinating books of fancy, usually at school in secret when she was supposed to be at a hobby. She first learned of the concept of magic through books, and she began to consider the possibility that she was magic - and that these strange occurrences were her powers manifesting themselves accidentally.

Soon, she had discovered that whenever she got very upset, a tingling sensation went all up and down her body, a prickling up and down the back of her neck, and then this power would fly out in a cloud to the things around her. She learned to control this power to avoid cupboard punishments - a useful survival technique. She suppressed the magic, usually unwanted, and thus avoided being locked away in the dark again. She also learned to keep her mouth shut, so that nothing which would anger the Dursleys came out of it.

Basically, she was a survivor - tough and clever - in a horrible and abusive household. She made the best of what she had. She even became bold enough to manipulate her own magic in order to help herself in secret - to unlock her cupboard door and steal food during cupboard punishments or spells without food for example - when her aunt and uncle punished her by stuffing her into the cupboard for even off the ground imaginings, let alone actual displays of magic.

Lunchtime was the worst today. She spent most of it running around the playground away from Dudley's gang, each minute shortening and shortening the time she would have to spend in active pain, but finally two of the boys were smart enough to cut around a building so that the gang had pinned her in from both sides.

"Well, boys," she said, knowing she would pay dearly for this comment, "you're using your brains today. Is this a new trick?"

Their faces twisted and they charged. A couple of them pinned her down and a couple more (always including Dudley) wailed on her. Punching, kicking, bruising. That sort of thing. Today wasn't actually that bad. Her leg hurt and so did her stomach, but she didn't have a bloody nose or black eyes.

She was in pain and had trouble concentrating for the rest of the school day, which was a pity, because today's lessons were actually interesting. The minute the bell rang, she'd grabbed her bag and was up and out of her seat to go to her hobbies. She used these to fill time in the day and be away from the house and her family as much as possible.

Estelle's hobbies and extracurricular lessons included jewelry making (she made all her own bone and wood jewelry, and it was through these lessons that she had gained the time to search for things like rocks, pebbles, feathers, and crystals), figure skating, painting and drawing, music (piano, violin, and voice lessons), poetry, cooking, and she volunteered at a local animal shelter. She also kept books on and dreamt of travel.

Estelle was the perfect girl with the perfect clothes on the outside, with lots of pressure put on her. This was vital in understanding why no adult ever looked into her background. On the outside, her life looked perfect. Secretly, of course, by her family, she was abused. But no one suspected that. No one suspected it from a respectable family who pushed perfection in their niece.

She kept busy at lots of more feminine artistic hobbies - hobbies her uncle and aunt would approve of, that would complete their perfect little boy-and-girl family - and she did them to stay out of the house or away from Dudley's fists. Dudley was forbidden from hurting her, for example, when she was cooking, or playing the piano in the living room. These hobbies were her reprieve from the abuse of her daily life - she even made friends at them, and at her figure skating her coach brought her extra food. These artistic endeavors were allowed as long as they were "just hobbies" - and she was even punished when she didn't do well at the hobbies, or when she "wasted material." The only catch, of course, was that she could only openly interact with the kinds of art subjects her aunt and uncle considered "appropriate." Her real art, she had to hide.

Estelle's hobbies were the only times she was happy. To impulsively lose oneself in the creation of a thing was the keenest pleasure she had ever known, aside from the few times when she had tasted chocolate. She dreamed of art, of escape, of running away - secretly. Her imagination and her mind created methods of escape for her. Not that she was the highly intellectual, abstract reader. Far from it. Estelle was simply observant of what was around her, and good at creating art out of it. She was constantly vigilant, constantly noticed what was around her - other things, including books, were only valuable insofar as they could be useful to her.

In any case, tonight was the night of a figure skating show. She arrived late, panting and in pain, and she changed into her turquoise leotard and skirt with sparkling sea patterns, her tights, and her ice skates. **  
**

"You're late, Potter," said her coach Miss Harskey brusquely, a large woman with her hands on her hips as she towered over her student.

"I know, ma'am, I'm sorry."

Miss Harskey watched with a veiled expression as Estelle quickly wolfed down the dinner her coach had brought her. Then, a few minutes later, it was time for the show. Estelle's stomach lurched. Her leg still hurt.

Miss Harskey visibly resisted the urge to pat her on the shoulder - Estelle didn't like sudden touches. "You'll do fine," she said, and sent Estelle out there to perform her solo piece. Estelle got to the edge of the rink, and looked around. There was her aunt, stiff and thin-lipped and glaring and severe, in the audience.

Estelle swallowed as their eyes met. She knew, then, that this would have to be perfect.

She floated out there gracefully onto the ice, and she began well. Speeding around, doing perfect twirls and spins, her skates making thin rings of ice on the bed of smooth white. Then Estelle went for a major jump, a leap - her leg throbbed and she fell painfully to the ground, landing on her hip. There was a groan from the audience and Estelle knew, then, that she had failed.

* * *

"I'm sorry! Dudley hurt my leg at lunch today -!"

"Don't you dare lie to me about Dudley, you useless _freak_!" Estelle was at home, and her Aunt Petunia had just slapped her hard across the face. "Duddykins would never do something like that!"

"He does it in front of you all the time -!"

"You ungrateful little wretch!" Uncle Vernon grabbed her by the collar and shook her, his purple face right up close to hers. "Do you have any idea how much it costs keeping you around? Do you?! And you can't even do well at the hobbies _we pay for_?!"

Estelle stayed silent, her jaw clenched. Anything she said now would only make it worse.

Her Uncle Vernon threw her away. "Into your cupboard! And no dinner tonight!" He stormed off and Aunt Petunia, with a silent snarl, followed him.

Estelle lay there in pain for a moment, before getting up and crawling away toward her cupboard.

"There she is - the dog with the tail between her legs." Estelle looked up. Dudley had bent over the banisters, grinning, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness.

* * *

Estelle waited until she heard the footsteps that meant the Dursleys had gone to bed. Then she reached out her hand, and sent a tendril of magic into the lock, moving it aside and sneaking out tentatively. She ran silently to the kitchen and grabbed the necessary goods - buttered bread, an apple, and a plastic cup of water. Then she retreated back into her cupboard and locked herself in again.

The Dursleys had always been like this, for all the ten years she'd lived with them, for as long as she could remember. She had her theories about and had noticed the peculiarities of each of her relatives:

Uncle Vernon was obsessed with normality to the point of being OCD. He was the sort of person who wore the same suit every day and always made sure his grey tie was perfectly neat. He was most comfortable when he was in control of the situation, and he used this control to assert his masculinity as much as possible. He also prized aggressiveness and masculinity in others - particularly his son. He saw being masculine and being violent as the same basic thing. He not only abused his niece, he yelled at the people he employed at work on a daily basis and was a proponent of corporal punishment and violent displays of power. His sister Marge was the same way, which possibly indicated a childhood in which normality and corporal punishment were prized highly - or perhaps a childhood where corporal punishment was prized but normality was noticeably absent. (Estelle had never been stupid enough to ask him which it was.) He kept up with the news and politics (and forbade anyone from disturbing him while he read the newspaper) and when he couldn't make his presence known physically without getting arrested, he made his presence known verbally through formal complaints. While he never got drunk - that was too lower class for him - he did sometimes comfort drink to calm his anxiety and rage. This was when he should never be approached.

Aunt Petunia was the hardest one to figure out. She had been Estelle's mother's sister, and she seemed to direct unseen depths of rage directly at Estelle. Someone would compliment Estelle, or Estelle would do something magical, and a very certain expression would come over Aunt Petunia's face. One of jealousy and rage. In the case of the magic, Aunt Petunia would slap her, call her a freak, and lock her away; in the case of the compliment, she would grind long claw-like fingernails tightly around Estelle's shoulder and say, "Yes, that's _my_ niece," as if the accomplishment had truly been all hers. She seemed desperate to be Estelle's better, to put Estelle into her own orderly control and manipulate everything she did.

Dudley was a product of his environment. He could get away with absolutely whatever he wanted, his temper tantrums and crying fits were always catered to, and he got everything he ever asked for. In fact, he was applauded for demanding things, even unreasonable things. It didn't matter if the things he asked for would make him sick, if not catering to his temper tantrums would be better for his mental health, if punishing him would be good for his ethical outlook on life. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon saw their son as a perfect byproduct of their perfect selves, and were more concerned with loving and catering to that byproduct than they were in raising a healthy son.

At the same time, Dudley saw his cousin being constantly abused. When he abused his cousin, whether through violence or humiliation, it was laughed off as teasing and even applauded, and Estelle's humiliation only added fuel to the enjoyment. Dudley was also encouraged by his father to see "real" men as cis, straight, traditionally masculine, and violent. (Estelle was only allowed Internet access at school, or sometimes when she was left home alone with Dudley's computer and the family went out, but she did enough reading on it to know that this was not necessarily accurate.) "Real" men, in other words, treated people like Vernon treated Estelle. Dudley saw himself both as perfect and as a "real" man. He also in some ways saw men as vastly superior to women, both because he mattered more than Estelle and because his doting mother was easier to con into things than his gruff, tough-it-out father.

They were a sick, disgusting group of people, and Estelle tried to be around them as little as possible.

Her only ray of hope was that she wouldn't have to see the Dursleys tomorrow. Tomorrow, Saturday, June twenty-third, was Dudley's eleventh birthday, and Estelle was always sent away to be babysat by an old cat lady named Mrs Figg whenever her relatives went out to do something fun - like celebrate a birthday.

Estelle's own birthdays, of course, were never celebrated. She'd gotten it from her Aunt Petunia, once, that her birthday was July thirty-first. The date was written in pencil on the cupboard ceiling above her bed - to remind herself that there had been a time when a set of parents had given birth to her, and, hopefully, had celebrated her birthday. She wouldn't know. She didn't remember them.

Countless times, she'd wished that car accident had never happened.

Everyone thought Estelle very odd, she knew, for the way she behaved. But everything she did was an extension of her determination to survive: Her hypervigilance, her fear of her family and of angering or displeasing her family, her overly compliant and extremely passive nature, her frequent absences from school, her constant hunger, the way she came to school with little food, and the way she often appeared depressed and withdrawn with little energy.

It was also obvious how much she hated her family. And that, she could not help. It was impossible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them. She'd like to see someone else try it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes:_ Sorry this chapter skids so close to canon at times. That should not be a regular occurrence, but for this particular storyline there was only so much I could change. I did, however, try to make Dudley's birthday noticeably different in some places. Let's see what you think of the changes.

* * *

2.

Estelle was up even earlier than usual on the morning of Dudley's eleventh birthday. Birthday breakfasts were always a big to-do, and she had to get started early if she wanted to avoid the Dursleys. And so she began - making pancakes, waffles, bacon, and eggs, moving the small mountain of presents on the table aside one by one (it was very difficult - one of them had to be a second television set, and another must be a racing bike; the iPhone was the easiest to move, rattling around in its box) in order to make room for the beautiful white table cloth, the orderly place settings, the butter, syrup, and ketchup in the center.

She put the breakfast in the microwave as usual, set cups of coffee beside Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's places, a glass of fruit juice next to Dudley's… and she looked with pleasure over her work. She was done.

Aunt Petunia would knock on her cupboard door when the family plus Piers was heading to their car for the zoo and it was time to leave for Mrs Figg's. So Estelle took a plain pancake and some bacon and retreated into the cupboard to curl up with one of her favorite books. She looked over the colorful pages full of travel photos, munching and reading the information about different cultures. She had moved from her book and on to her art materials - she wanted to paint a picture of her absurd dream last night, which had been of riding a flying motorcycle through the sparkling stars in the night sky - when she heard her Aunt Petunia enter the kitchen.

There was a pause. A moment later Aunt Petunia's heels clacked over to the cupboard door.

Oh, no. What had she done now?

"You moved the presents," said Aunt Petunia, in a tone that demanded an explanation.

Estelle would have to work this very carefully. "I… thought Dudley's birthday deserved a fancy breakfast and a nice table setting," she said cautiously after a moment. "He can still see the presents where they are when he comes into the kitchen."

"I know that!" Aunt Petunia snapped, and then there was a pause. Estelle could practically hear her deciding whether or not to punish her niece. "Don't move anything again without my permission," she said suspiciously at last, and left.

Estelle breathed a sigh of relief.

There was much noise made when Dudley entered the kitchen, his mother's hands over his eyes. His parents sang him happy birthday, and when the hands were removed he leaped on the presents and began counting them. Estelle knew this without seeing it, because she'd watched the same nauseating display in countless years past.

"Thirty six," she heard Dudley say at last, and there was a distinct frown in his voice. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy," said Aunt Petunia fondly.

"Alright, thirty-seven then," Dudley countered forcefully, and now Estelle could hear it - the beginnings of a huge Dudley tantrum. The whine came into the voice, the face reddened and screwed up, the tone got louder, the fists balled up. And she got to listen with enjoyment, because she was locked safely in here.

But to her disappointment, the big tantrum didn't happen.

"And we'll buy you another _two_ presents while we're out today," said Aunt Petunia quickly. "How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that alright?"

There was a pause. It took Dudley a long time to count things. His grades weren't very good. Estelle wondered if he'd be able to do the math at all. Even thirty-seven plus two sounded a bit out of Dudley's league.

Sure enough, Estelle at last heard Dudley mutter, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," Aunt Petunia supplied after a while, in that same fond voice. Dudley, for her, was still perfect. She was like a doting sweetheart in a romance novel, only the center of her life was her son instead of her boyfriend.

"Oh." Estelle heard Dudley sit down heavily, the chair groaning under his weight, and grab a wrapped present. "Alright then."

Dudley didn't care how many presents he got. Not really. He just always demanded more than he'd gotten last year. This was something Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia encouraged - if Dudley had demanded two hundred birthday presents, they'd probably still have thought he was worth the expenditure. Even with Uncle Vernon's corporate job as a firm director, Estelle wondered how they did it all.

As if to prove her point, Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!" His tone was, in its own way, as fond as his wife's.

Just then, the landline home telephone in the hall rang and the kitchen's noise became too distant for Estelle to hear. Instead, Estelle heard Aunt Petunia walk into the hall tersely and say, "Hello?"

Estelle knew as well as her aunt that it couldn't be Marge or Aunt Petunia's bridge partner Yvonne. They both knew Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's cell phone numbers.

"... What?! You can't - you can't take her today?! Why not?!"

Ah. It was Mrs Figg. Aunt Petunia sounded furious, too.

"Well - well she can help you get better. You know she's a very helpful young girl. She needs a firm hand. Don't be afraid to sit in a chair with your leg up and have her do whatever you need her to do - make you soup or tea, fluff your pillows, fetch you things. You can order her around as much as you'd like. And if she doesn't measure up, we will punish her - _personally_."

Estelle shivered.

"No, really, it would be no trouble at all for her - Look," said Aunt Petunia in a lower, more furtive tone. "We don't want her with us today. She upsets Duddy and it's his birthday. Is there _any_ way you can take her…?"

Estelle sat on her bed with her hands curled around her legs, her eyes dull and a lead weight in her chest. She'd always known her aunt and uncle hadn't liked her, but even she wasn't used to feeling so… unwanted.

"Fine." Aunt Petunia's voice could have frozen over Hell. "We'll make other arrangements." She slammed the phone down. "Broken her leg! If she's telling the truth I'll eat my hat," Aunt Petunia muttered, apparently having forgotten her niece could hear her. "Useless, good-for-nothing old…"

Even Estelle felt sorry for Mrs Figg for a moment - and Mrs Figg spent most of their time together making Estelle look at boring old cat photographs and help her with "Instergram."

Then the cupboard door was pounded on. "Get out here!" Aunt Petunia demanded.

Estelle put her things away and went to stand before her aunt, shoulders hunched, looking up at her. Estelle was wearing worn old sandals, a teal blue summer dress with swirl patterns, and her red hair was up in a fanciful wooden hair clip. Estelle had dressed today in celebration - she'd _thought_ she'd be free of the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia looked her over suspiciously.

"Follow me," she said at last, and Estelle followed her aunt into the kitchen. Uncle Vernon and Dudley looked up in confusion. Worry for Dudley had creased Aunt Petunia's face, mingling with the anger.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her." She jerked her head in Estelle's direction. Dudley's mouth fell open in horror. "Now what?" Aunt Petunia continued, sending a snide glare in Estelle's direction like she'd planned this. Which she hadn't, by the way. Not even Estelle could make someone trip from whole blocks away. She had to be near the person or place for the magic to work.

Besides, why would she _want_ to? Who would willingly spend time in the Dursleys' presence? She'd rather take the cat photographs and the "Instergram."

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl."

The Dursleys often spoke about Estelle like this, as though she wasn't there - or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Estelle suggested. They'd done it before, occasionally, when they were in good moods. It was amazing. She spent time on the Internet in front of Dudley's computer, ate ice cream out of the fridge, watched cartoons and stupid reality TV shows on the television set she was never usually allowed to commandeer, and made weird faces at the portraits of the Dursleys on the walls. "You wouldn't have to put up with me for the day, and I could even do some extra chores around the house while you're gone -"

"Are you mad?!" Aunt Petunia looked as though she had just swallowed a lemon. Apparently not. So much for that final hope. "Leave you alone in a nice place like this?! We'd come back and find the house in ruins!" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Estelle, but they weren't listening. They never did.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "... and leave her in the car…"

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone…"

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying - it had been years since he'd really cried - but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let her spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I… don't… want… her… t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Estelle a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arm. Estelle glared back sullenly, her teeth gritted.

Dudley had gotten this crying routine from Estelle herself. He'd dipped her braid in an inkwell in first form and she'd run off crying. This was back when she still hadn't understood that crying did very little in helping you solve life's problems. Their teacher had immediately bent over her, trying to be soothing, so later on Dudley had tried this with his Mum. It had worked wonders and he'd done it on a fairly regular basis ever since.

Dudley didn't really care whether or not Estelle came - Estelle knew this for certain. She'd be fun for him to pick on, if she were around. But Dudley's desire to see Estelle miserable far outweighed any desire to actively pick on her, and he thought that by going crying to his Mummy he was guaranteeing that Estelle would be sent off to tend to an injured and sickly Mrs Figg for the rest of the day, instead of going to the much-more-fun local zoo with him and his crony Piers.

Little did Dudley know that - despite how fun and fascinating the zoo sounded - Estelle would take being Mrs Figg's pretend-granddaughter over being Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's niece any day of the week.

So Estelle smirked inwardly and turned the tables around on Dudley.

"Aunt Petunia, I don't want to ruin Dudley's birthday, so I think I'll try going over to Mrs Figg's and seeing if I can help her there," she offered, smiling sweetly, hands behind her back. With any luck, Mrs Figg would turn her away and she would return to an empty, locked house - and Estelle knew where the spare key was hidden.

Dudley's sobs drew to a shuddering halt and his eyes widened.

"Since when have you cared so much about Duddy, girl?" said Aunt Petunia, her eyes narrowing.

"Mummy, I've changed my mind, she can come," said Dudley suddenly and loudly.

Aunt Petunia looked forward and her blue eyes became misty. "Oh, my dear Duddy… so kind to his wretched cousin…"

"No, Aunt Petunia, it's fine, really, I can -!" Estelle began desperately.

"Shut up," Uncle Vernon snapped at last, pointing at Estelle with a fork. " _You_ don't get a say in this!"

Estelle shut her mouth almost on reflex.

Just then, the doorbell rang - "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically - and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them.

Half an hour later, Estelle was glaring flatly straight ahead of herself as a rowdy Piers and Dudley in the back seat next to her shouted and shoved her, arms flailing around as they raved about video games. She was in the Dursleys' car, and her only consolation was that she was on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. She wasn't at school or at one of her hobbies, she wasn't in the kitchen or in her cupboard or in Mrs Figg's cabbage-smelling living room. She was actually going somewhere different for a change.

She wasn't sure it was worth it, though. Before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Estelle aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, his hand clenched around her collar and his large purple face close into hers again, "I'm warning you now, girl - any funny business, anything at all - and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"Understood," said Estelle simply, her jaw clenched. It was useless to say she didn't intend to do anything, even more useless (and possibly untrue) to say that nothing would happen. Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe her. No one ever did. And besides, she might lose control. Something might happen.

And so Estelle listened to Uncle Vernon complain about motorcyclists to Aunt Petunia as he drove (Uncle Vernon liked to complain about things, his favorite subjects being people at work, the city council, the bank, and Estelle), she listened to Dudley and Piers talk about video games and occasionally shove her and shout jeering names in her direction. She sat there and stared out the window and tried to pretend she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. She imagined herself in a hot air balloon floating on a cloud she could see in the blue skies above her. Perhaps she would paint that later.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Estelle what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap strawberry ice pop. Estelle would have bought a Fudgesicle, but she'd begun to point toward one and had looked up at her Uncle Vernon and at his furious expression her finger had drooped. Strawberry was next best.

Once inside the zoo, Estelle had turned to her family. "I propose," she said formally, "that I go off on my own and meet you all back here at the end of the day. That way you don't have to put up with me."

"Mummy, I don't want Estelle to be by herself," said Dudley in a mock-concerned voice.

"Quite right. What would people think of us, girl, letting a ten-year-old go off on her own?" Uncle Vernon demanded. "Besides, you'd probably try to make a building explode or something."

"... I'm almost eleven," Estelle muttered, trying not to pout.

So she did end up going around the zoo with the Dursleys. But as long as she lagged as far behind them as possible, made herself a small target, and tried to ignore them, the zoo could actually be kind of fun. She loved the big wild cats and the polar bears, and the penguins and seals were kind of adorable. There was even a mother otter with a new pup. She took out her flip phone and took a photo of the mum and baby together, the baby a little ball of fuzz on the mum's belly. Dudley tried to kick the phone out of her hand and break it, and she even managed to dodge and avoid him. Life was good.

They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his Knickerbocker Glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one. Dudley was in fact more upset than Estelle by this point. He claimed the animals were "getting boring." So he demanded next to go to what he saw as the most thrilling and dangerous exhibit of them all.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house.

Aunt Petunia stayed outside the house, and tried to get Estelle to stay outside with her. "Girls don't like big snakes," she said firmly, as if this were incontrovertible logic.

"I like big snakes," said Estelle, and she turned to look up entreatingly at her uncle. " _Please,_ Uncle Vernon?" She used her big eyes.

"What kind of self-respecting little girl wants to see great big snakes?" muttered Uncle Vernon, but they were in public and Estelle began to tear up. Uncle Vernon didn't care, the way Aunt Petunia did for Dudley, but people were starting to stare and _that_ Uncle Vernon did care about.

"Oh, just go inside, then," he muttered, his small dark eyes gazing shiftily around at the watching people.

And so Estelle entered the reptile house with the men.

It was cool and dark inside the reptile house, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. Its sign said _Boa Constrictor - Brazil._ It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dinky little bin - but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge. Estelle had to resist the urge to openly roll her eyes.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Estelle moved in front of the tank to look at the snake, but the minute she did she felt a strange prickling up and down the back of her neck. Magic? Now? But why? She wasn't feeling particularly emotional or upset…

She looked around and saw Piers standing there watching her.

"Got a crush, Piers?" she asked.

Piers flushed. "No," he said quickly.

"I don't think the snake's going to do anything," Estelle pointed out. Piers glared at her suspiciously, but at last, he reluctantly shuffled away.

Estelle made sure nobody else was watching her, then looked back at the snake. The prickling was still there. "Now what's so special about you…?" she whispered.

The snake suddenly jerked awake and raised its head, turning right around so that it was looking her in the eye. It opened its mouth, and out of it issued a low, hissing male voice with a Hispanic accent. "A speaker," it said in a tone of faint amazement.

"You can talk," said Estelle in surprise.

The snake came as close as a snake could to smirking. "Actually, human," it said, "it would be more accurate to say _you_ can talk to _me_."

"The magic," Estelle whispered in realization.

"That's right, amiga," said the snake in satisfaction. He looked her over in fascination. Then he jerked his head at the Dursleys. "Are those idiots actually your kin?" he asked contemptuously.

"Unfortunately," said Estelle. "I wish they weren't."

"At least you know who your kin are," said the snake. "I don't."

"That's where you're wrong," said Estelle. "That man is my uncle, the boy is my cousin. I don't know anything about my parents. My kin won't talk about them. It's like they did something bad."

"That's not fair," the snake pointed out.

"They treat me horribly," Estelle admitted. "But I feel bad for you, too," she said. "Stuck in a cage all day long with people staring, tapping and pointing and prodding at you."

"It is a grim life," the snake admitted, sighing. "But I'm sure your family cares more than you think."

Estelle thought of Aunt Petunia on the phone this morning. "No," she said quietly. "No, they don't."

"We could test it out, if you'd like?" Estelle looked up hawkishly. The snake gave a sly smile. "If you use your magic to let me out of this tank, I will pretend to attack you. Then you can see if your family really cares - if they try to save you."

Estelle gave a tired smile. "You're just trying to escape," she said. "But it's an interesting idea, so alright. Try not to actually kill me, okay?" It was a ridiculous thing to do - put her life in the hands of a talking snake.

But if Estelle were honest with herself, she didn't have much to live for anyway. And she wanted to see - wanted to see what her family would do.

Estelle flicked her hand and the glass front of the tank disappeared.

The snake lunged at her, jaws snapping, and she didn't have to entirely fake it as she screamed and fell to the ground. The snake rose above her, ready to lunge for another strike. "Help! Somebody help me!" she screamed.

People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. Estelle saw her family out of the corner of her eye - Uncle Vernon took one terrified look at her, grabbed Piers and Dudley, and turned around and ran. He made it to the reptile house doors, where Aunt Petunia had gone to look in. She saw the snake about to attack Estelle, saw Estelle's pleading eyes - Aunt Petunia screamed - and there was a moment of hesitation.

Then she grabbed her son and her husband and said, "Let's get out of here." And they were gone.

Estelle stared after them, feeling oddly empty.

"Sorry, amiga," she heard the snake whisper, and it slithered past her out of the reptile house. Estelle looked around - and the only one still standing there was the keeper of the reptile house, and that seemed to be mainly because he was stiff with shock.

"But the glass," he said stupidly, "where did the glass go?"

It wasn't the first time Estelle had frightened someone with her powers. Her childhood tantrums used to make the house shake and things explode along the walls. Her tantrums were never catered to, and so they faded out quickly.

Then, as now, her family had never cared.

* * *

She met her family at the zoo director's office. "Sorry to disappoint you. I survived," she said flatly, arms crossed.

The zoo director seemed to have just handed a shaken Aunt Petunia a cup of tea. But now he looked at her and Uncle Vernon incredulously. "You didn't tell me there was a child unaccounted for?!"

Uncle Vernon swelled up in anger and indignation at the tone of accusation, but it was Aunt Petunia who saved them.

"Oh, my, I - I must have been so frightened I hadn't seen her!" she gasped. Then she cried crocodile tears into her lace gloves. The zoo director softened, and put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

Estelle looked down, silent.

* * *

She lay there in her dark cupboard that night, staring at the birthdate on her bedroom ceiling, lost in thought.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the car crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Estelle had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, imagined how it would happen and where they would go and what she would say, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed over her hand and kissed it once while she was out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Estelle furiously if she knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without saying a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Estelle tried to get a closer look.

And, even odder, when they disappeared, she could feel it - a prickling wash of magic. So were there other people like her? If there were, why hadn't they come and saved her? Why did they run away and disappear before she could even ask their names? Why tease her like that and then leave so cruelly? "Wait!" she would call, but they wouldn't wait, they never did.

She had no friends at school, obviously, but she asked the friends at her hobbies if they knew these odd people. None of them said any of the strange strangers sounded remotely familiar.

So who were they?


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Mr Ranaford was optimistic upon letting his students out on the last day of school.

"Okay, children… Be safe this summer… Don't get run over by a bus… Try not to get beat up in secondary school…" The children sat there, watching him eagerly, tense and leaning forward in their seats. "And… school's out!"

He threw up his arms and everyone charged toward the door.

Everyone except Estelle. She was weak-kneed with some weird combination of relief and lack of breakfast. She watched Dudley and his friends cheer and push people out of the way on their mad dash out the door.

"Dursley! Dursley, stop -!" Mr Ranaford called fruitlessly. He couldn't reach Dudley and his friends through the sea of other children.

Estelle would not be going on to the same secondary school as Dudley. Both Dudley and his sidekick Piers Polkiss were going to Uncle Vernon's old alma mater, a private boarding school called Smeltings. Estelle was going to Stonewall High, the local public school.

Dudley's reign of tyranny was at an end.

* * *

"Going to get your uniform for your _stupid_ school, Estelle?" Estelle looked up cautiously, her face stony, to see Dudley grinning on the staircase above her. She was standing by the front door in a camel-colored coat and a frown, waiting for Aunt Petunia to come so they could drive into town and get her Stonewall High uniform.

She wished her aunt would come already. Fat chance of that.

"... Yes," she said simply, quietly, after a moment.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," said Dudley. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks. I don't fancy trying to stuff _your_ head down the toilet, myself. I don't think it'd fit," said Estelle before she could think about what she was saying. Dudley paused in confusion for a moment - and then realization lit his eyes. There was a silent moment of tension, and then he charged down the stairs toward her. She shrieked and took off, flying out the door.

She made it to the car before Dudley caught up to her, slamming her against the car and pinning her arms up.

"Ow! _Ow!"_ She kicked his shin fruitlessly.

"Girl, stop hurting Duddy!" Aunt Petunia had come out, clutching her purse, stiff and frosty. She smiled and put a fond hand on Dudley's head, smoothing his hair. "He was just playing, weren't you, Duddykins?"

"Yes, Mummy."

"Well, you can play with your cousin later, Duddy, we have to go."

Estelle got in the car. She watched Dudley stand there and stare at them go. She watched him till they were out of sight.

Her dread of what "playing" would consist of later colored her entire experience of being fitted for a grey schoolgirls' uniform in Surrey center.

* * *

Estelle spent most of her time out of the house that summer. She spent more time than ever at her hobbies - she was preparing for the future. At Stonewall High, she thought, everything would be different. She would be free to make friends there, and between school and her hobbies, and with Dudley gone, she might never have to see the Dursleys at all. That would last until the end of school, after which… she didn't know where she'd be going.

She was fairly certain the Dursleys weren't going to pay for further schooling, so that was out of the question. She could become a waitress, or a secretary. Somehow the idea didn't inspire much enthusiasm.

Still, it was better than living with the Dursleys. Perhaps she might even fall in love. So she painted and skated, played music and made jewelry, all in the secure knowledge that it was over - the worst was behind her.

The world around her seemed to reflect this. One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Estelle at Mrs Figg's. Mrs Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them, nor quite as eager to take pictures of them, as before. She let Estelle watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

("How long have you had this…?"

"Not long. Why?"

"Er… Never mind.")

Still, reality television and chocolate. It was probably the best babysitting she'd ever had.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Estelle had not gotten a parade upon receiving hers, and was even barred from watching Dudley's own uniform parade, as though he were Jesus Christ himself walking with the cross and the sight might make her go blind or something.

Dudley had spent his summer terrorizing the streets with his gang. He'd already broken almost every expensive present he'd gotten for his birthday, and he now had a brand-new present from Smeltings: a knobbly stick used for hitting each other when the teachers weren't looking. (This was supposed to be good training for later life.) Estelle had the suspicious feeling that stick was going to be used to beat at least one poor kid's back, and she hoped to God it wasn't hers.

* * *

The next morning, Estelle had put bowls of oatmeal and glasses of juice at each person's place and had sat down with her own breakfast - with an accompanying _bang_ of Smelting stick on table by Dudley, who now carried the bloody thing around with him everywhere - when they heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his newspaper.

"Make Estelle get it. She's the _girl._ "

He was right in that this was how it usually went - Estelle did more of the work and received less of the praise.

"Get the mail, Estelle," said Uncle Vernon next from behind his newspaper.

She saw Dudley smirk and raise the Smelting stick above her head - she dodged smoothly out of the way and stood to go get the mail. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," she said, and went into the entrance hall.

Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Aunt Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and a letter for Estelle.

Estelle walked back into the kitchen with the mail and handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard.

"What's that?" Dudley asked quickly, seeing the thing in her hand.

"Probably from the school library," said Estelle, "or one of my hobbies." Dudley wilted at the mention of things that would make him intelligent.

"If you've lost a book, I'll tan your hide," Aunt Petunia threatened.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," said Estelle flatly and obediently, sitting down and looking over the envelope. It was… peculiar, she realized.

It was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, the address written in emerald green ink:

 _Miss E. Potter_

 _The Cupboard under the Stairs_

 _4 Privet Drive_

 _Little Whinging_

 _Surrey_

There was no stamp. No return address. She turned the envelope over, increasingly puzzled, and saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. In tiny Latin letters around the H were the words, _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus._

It looked almost like the emblem for some fancy school.

She slit the envelope open and two pieces of parchment paper fell out. The first one read:

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

 _Dear Miss Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

It was signed at the bottom.

It was like an explosion had gone off inside Estelle's mind. She sat there, stunned into silence, for a moment.

Then the cogs began turning and it all started to make sense.

It was magic, what she could do. There _were_ other people like her out there. And they had finally come for her. She briefly considered the possibility that this could be someone playing a joke, but none of her friends would play a joke this cruel and not only did the Dursleys have no sense of humor, but they wouldn't joke about something as forbidden to them as magic.

No, this was the real thing.

And she had to hide it from the Dursleys. She knew this instinctively. They would forbid her from going to this… Hogwarts. And she could not allow that.

"Girl. What is it?" Estelle looked up to find her family watching her, puzzled. She couldn't imagine how her face must look.

"Oh… I'm playing a huge duet part in a figure skating show coming up this autumn!" She laughed self consciously. "I'm just really nervous, that's all."

The Dursleys rolled their eyes and went back to their breakfast. Little did they know, she wouldn't be around for them to see the performance that wasn't actually scheduled at all.

* * *

The school awaited an owl. That was the first step. If they used parchment and quill, perhaps they also still used messenger birds - which would explain how the letter had got here with no stamp and no return address.

So Estelle took a pen and a piece of paper, a book to write on, and walked outside, staring skyward. Sure enough, she saw an owl circling, soaring, in the blue skies above.

Carefully casual, she began walking and it followed her. No one bothered odd little Estelle Potter on her way - she was a frequent wanderer of the streets, taking buses and often walking half the city in a single day. She'd memorized every nook, every cranny, and she went wherever she pleased. Anywhere was better than home.

She didn't go very far this time. Just to the local park. She sat on a picnic table, and the owl fluttered down next to her and stuck out its leg. She scribbled down a note on the piece of paper -

 _Dear Professor McGonagall,_

 _This is Estelle Potter and of course I would love to come to Hogwarts. However, I do not come from a magical family and I did not know I was a witch till just now. So I need some more information. I see a list of school supplies here with the letter, and it includes robes, parchment, quills, a cauldron, a wand, spell books, and a whole host of other things that I don't know where to find anywhere._

 _How do I buy my supplies? How do I get to Hogwarts? Is it a boarding school?_

 _Any information you can send back would be appreciated._

 _Thank you,_

 _Estelle Rose_

She gave the letter to the owl, tying it around its leg. "Take this directly to Professor McGonagall," she whispered.

The owl swooped away into the blue skies beyond.

Estelle watched it for a moment, and then stowed the parchment envelope, letter, and school supplies list away safely in her coat pocket. From that moment on, she carried them with her everywhere - her living proof that she was right, and she belonged somewhere.

* * *

It all came to a head very suddenly a few days later. Everything seemed to happen at once.

The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon snapped, "Get it, girl!" and then grumbled, "Who with any decency calls at this time of the morning…?"

Estelle ran to the door, flung it open - and looked down. Sitting there was a tabby cat with square markings around its eyes. Suddenly, right before her vision, the cat became a woman, wearing a black business suit and square glasses, carrying a briefcase, her black hair drawn into a tight bun.

Her glasses gleamed in an official sort of way. She stuck out a hand. "Hello," she said briskly. "My name is Professor McGonagall. My deepest apologies, we thought you had already known."

 _They thought she had already known._ Yes! That explained it!

Estelle gave a true, blissful smile, taking the hand. "Oh, it's alright," she said, a bit playful. "All water under the bridge, really." She felt as though a tremendous balloon of relief was expanding inside her, right underneath her rib cage.

"Girl! Who is it?!" Aunt Petunia shrieked. "Is it the mail man again?! Tell him -" Aunt Petunia walked into the entrance hall, saw a formal-looking stranger, and caught herself. "Ah, I'm sorry," she said, walking forward, "my name is Petunia Dursley -"

"Yes, I know exactly who _you_ are," said Professor McGonagall stiffly, looking over Aunt Petunia with an expression of dignified, veiled dislike.

Aunt Petunia's smile froze on her face. "Do I know you?"

Professor McGonagall sighed, as if bowing to the inevitable. "... I knew your sister," she said quietly. And it was amazing the effect these words immediately had on everyone in the surrounding vicinity. Several things happened simultaneously.

Estelle realized her mother had been a witch, her parents hadn't died in a car accident, the green light she remembered wasn't from a stoplight, and she had been lied to all her life.

Petunia realized in a rush of fear that the wizarding people were trying to take another family member away from her - one she'd worked hard on, trying to make her sensible and contrite.

Vernon realized his house had been taken over by an invading force.

Dudley saw his father storm to his feet and, for the first time, he saw one of his parents look genuinely afraid of something.

Then Vernon had grabbed Dudley's Smelting stick and charged out into the entrance hall toward Professor McGonagall, bellowing, "PETUNIA, TAKE THEM AND RUN!" Professor McGonagall wasn't afraid, but she was surprised and annoyed.

Estelle just saw Minerva McGonagall take out a strip of wood and wave it at the Smelting stick, turning it into a feather, as she was yanked away by a shrieking Aunt Petunia, Dudley on Aunt Petunia's other arm. Then they'd turned a corner and all she heard was a cry and she saw a flash of violet light.

"Wait! Wait, I have to go with her -!" Estelle was shouting, struggling against Aunt Petunia's hold, as she was yanked out the back door.

Then Estelle heard, "Dudley, hit her!" She felt a blow to the back of her head and she was knocked out.

* * *

Petunia sprinted out the side gate, jumped the garden wall of the house next door, and took the baseball bat she had carried with her to the windows of the car next door. The alarm went off as she unlocked the doors and shoved a frightened and bewildered Dudley into the backseat, tossing her horrible niece into the trunk and slamming the trunk shut.

It was for her own good. Someday, she would see.

Petunia grabbed the spare car keys from underneath the eve - Mrs Vinden always left them there, in case she locked herself out - got into the car, and reversed backwards down the driveway.

"Mummy, what's going on?!" Dudley cried fearfully.

"Later, Duddy." Petunia drove determinedly at high speeds down the street - and suddenly the woman in the black suit with the wand appeared before her. What had happened to Vernon? Petunia gasped and nearly went to stop the car - Then a hard determination filled her eyes, and the car roared at even higher speeds to mow the woman down.

Even Professor McGonagall's eyes lit briefly in surprise. Petunia saw her mouth something and shoot a spell at the car, but both Minerva and Petunia knew it couldn't be too fierce a spell because Estelle Potter was in the trunk. It left a dent on the front fender and the car jerked briefly, but it continued speeding forward and then Professor McGonagall had disappeared - though not under Petunia's wheels, sadly.

Petunia continued speeding toward the highway.

* * *

Minerva became a cat again and scampered down the road after the car as neighbors began wandering out of their houses, wondering what the bloody hell was going on. The woman next door screamed as she found her car missing and the doors next door flung wide open.

If they walked into the Dursleys' house now, all they would find was a sniffling, grunting pig.

It would be so much easier if she could just paralyze the stupid Muggle woman, but that might send the car spiraling off-road and kill her and her son. Worse, it could kill Estelle Potter.

Minerva scampered into a back alley, turned into herself once more, and pulled out of her briefcase a broomstick. She took to the air and whooshed away into the skies, flying above the cloud line, watching the moving car down below.

They would have to stop eventually.

* * *

Estelle woke with a groan to find herself in suffocating, claustrophobic darkness. She screamed and pushed at what was above her, trapping her inside. At first she thought it was a coffin, but no, coffins didn't have engines growling beneath her like this.

Was she… in a trunk?

That was when it all came back to her. Aunt Petunia had taken her and Dudley and run and then -!

She had to find McGonagall. But first, she had to get out of here.

She listened carefully. Based on the noise, she could tell they were on the highway. To unlock herself and get out now would be unsafe. She would have to wait until they parked for the night.

She felt the back of her head and winced. Her head pounded and she could feel dried blood at the crook of her neck. She sent a trickle of magic to help the wound, and another to help her lungs keep from suffocating.

How she survived those terrible hours inside the trunk, she did not know. She practiced lying there, pretending to be asleep, so when the trunk was finally opened up to reveal a soothing, invigorating rush of cold night air, not an eyelid fluttered.

"Idiot girl," she heard Petunia say scathingly, and the woman slammed the trunk shut again.

Estelle waited until she could hear no sound around herself anymore. Then she sent out a trickle of magic and unlocked the trunk. She pushed it open… and looked around, finding herself in a motel car park. She crept out of the car and into the car park, her whole body stiff and aching…

And there was Professor McGonagall, standing beside a street lamp.

Estelle walked quietly over and stood, looking up into the Professor's face. The seemingly stern lines softened. Professor McGonagall reached her wand out, and the wound and blood on Estelle's head vanished away, her whole body soothing as if dipped in warm water.

Estelle reached into her pocket and took out the parchment Hogwarts envelope. "I have everything I need," she said seriously.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Yes. But first, we go to find your relatives."

Estelle's eyebrows rose incredulously. "You don't actually think you'll be able to convince them -?"

"Oh, no," said Professor McGonagall, her tone made of steel. "That was not my intent. Your uncle back there is now a pig. Do you get the picture?"

Estelle followed her as she strode energetically back across the car park, and waved her wand so that the motel door unlocked and the door swung open. Petunia and Dudley shared a single bed inside.

Professor McGonagall walked over to Aunt Petunia and stood above her, wand raised, eyes icy. Aunt Petunia woke up and started to scream - Professor McGonagall waved her wand and in Aunt Petunia's place became a quacking yellow duck.

Dudley had gasped and flailed out of bed, backing up on his butt against the far wall. "Who are you? What do you want?" he said fearfully.

Estelle knelt down before Dudley and smirked. "You have your school and I have mine, Dudders," she said, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge's favorite pet name for him. "You're going to learn how to become a corporate suit. I'm going to learn how to become someone like _her_." She pointed her thumb backwards at McGonagall.

Dudley's mouth opened and his eyes widened in horror - and then, in a flash of violet light, he was a squawking chicken.

Estelle stood, her and her Professor's expressions both veiled. "Let's go," said McGonagall quietly, and they left.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"... Professor," said Estelle, after they'd been walking for a while, "where are we going?"

"There's a very nice Italian restaurant down the street that's open twenty-four hours and it's your eleventh birthday," said Professor McGonagall crisply.

Estelle stopped. "It is?"

"It is now…" Professor McGonagall pulled out a silver pocket watch and checked, "... 12:36 AM on July thirty-first. Happy birthday."

"Oh. So you're taking me out to dinner?"

"That's right."

"... Do they have chocolate desserts at this restaurant?"

Estelle could have sworn she saw the Professor suppress a smile. "I'm sure they do."

* * *

They sat down in a back corner booth hidden by curtains. Professor McGonagall had quite fearlessly asked the maitre-de to be sat far away from the large party heartily loud and drunk off wine. But Estelle learned the true nature of Professor McGonagall's request when McGonagall closed the curtains, took out her wand, and waved it. The noise of the restaurant outside dropped a little.

"There," she said, "now no one will be able to hear us. I suppose you have questions? I have gathered your aunt and uncle didn't tell you anything."

"Yes. Who were my parents? Were they a witch and wizard? How many of us are there? Where do we live and go to school?" All these questions rushed out of Estelle at once.

"My job is typically to go around to all Muggleborn students - Muggles being non magical people - and introduce them to our world. We didn't think you'd have need of it because yes, your parents were a witch and wizard. Your mother was a Muggleborn, your father what is called a Pureblood - born from a long line of ancient wizarding stock. However, as you know nothing, I shall give you the standard Muggleborn speech.

"There is a whole other world of wizards and witches out there, a world entirely separate from the Muggle one. Muggle, by the way, is how witches and wizards refer to non magical people. We witches and wizards, we hide in little pockets among Muggle places. A shopping center is hidden away in one city, a few wizarding homes are hidden on the edge of a village, etcetera. There are less of us, which makes it easier."

"How does nobody ever notice?"

"We use something called a Notice Me Not charm. Muggles are charmed not to see what's around us. Undetectable Expansion charms are handy too - making much space within a place which on the outside has very little space. Both charms are heavily regulated by the Ministry of Magic, but they are useful in building large centers or residential sections.

"Now, there are several ways of traveling around the wizarding world, from pocket to pocket. If a witch or wizard sticks out their wand arm anywhere in Britain, a wizarding bus route will immediately find them, a route which can travel all over the country at lightning speeds, including to London. There is also Flooing - traveling from wizarding fireplace to wizarding fireplace. For adults, there is also Apparition - teleporting from one place to another. There is flying - usually on broomsticks - though never around Muggles. There are Portkeys - inanimate objects charmed to take whoever is touching them to a specific place at a specific time - usually used by the Ministry, to stagger magical entrance for Quidditch games and concerts and other such things.

"There are also various ways of communicating. One can use Floo powder to call other fireplaces and talk to the people within, and the most common method of communication is by messenger owl. Messenger owls have magic too - they can find any person in the world, can detect when someone wants to send mail to their owner, and can travel at remarkably fast speeds. We also have something called technomagic, Muggle devices specially charmed to work off of and around magic. We have laptops, iPods and iPhones, radios, music players, and the like. Hogwarts also has wifi capabilities.

"Hogwarts is a boarding school that runs on a seven-year training system. It's a medieval castle in Scotland built on ancient Celtic ground - the Druids were talented wand makers and scholars of ancient times, very important to British wizarding past."

"The Druids were the forerunners of Wiccans, weren't they?"

"They were. We wizards and witches have our own special brand of spirituality, something Christians would call Pagan. We worship nature, the earth from which all magic springs. We _are_ Wiccans, essentially. Our saints, you could say, are powerful wizards and witches of times past. 'Merlin!', for example, is a common wizard epithet. We do believe in an afterlife, but only as a place to return to in between the reincarnation of our energies.

"In any case. The grounds of Hogwarts contain a lake, a forest, a graveyard, and a sports stadium. Connected to the grounds is the only all-magical village in Britain, called Hogsmeade. Both are protected under heavy anti-Muggle enchantments, built out in the middle of nowhere. You will reach there by wizarding train - a steam engine. There are four school houses, and each student is sorted into one. The current headmaster is Albus Dumbledore. He's a very important man. He's on the Wizengamot Council and is a part of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"Wizengamot Council?"

"The wizarding world has its own government - the Ministry of Magic - with its own Minister for Magic. The Minister governs Great Britain; other countries have their own wizarding governments. Departments of our government include the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Department of International Magical Cooperation, Department of Magical Transportation, Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the research division, The Department of Mysteries.

"The International Confederation of Wizards is actually the council that originally created the current Ministry. New wizards are voted in when an old one phases out. The Wizengamot Council is wizarding Britain's high court of law, and also preceded the Ministry. It sends arrested and convicted people to Azkaban prison, an island fortress guarded by Dark creatures called Dementors.

"The Ministry is hidden underneath Whitehall, deep in London. There is also a wizarding shopping center in London, called the Alleys, but it is not connected to the pocket holding the Ministry. The Alleys are where I will take you later to buy your school supplies.

"Now, I should tell you what subjects are covered at Hogwarts. The main classes are Herbology - or, the study of magical plants, because herbs help brew potions - History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration - or, the study of using magic to turn things into other things, which I teach - Charms - or, the study of using magic to change the properties of things - Defense Against the Dark Arts - the Dark Arts being violent magic - and Astronomy, because the movements of the planets are very important to studies of magic, particularly magical energy theories. How your magic moves on a sub level depends on how the stars are aligned. Electives you can take starting in third year include Divination - or, the study of seeing into the future - Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes - or, the study of ancient runic magical scripts and the powers of individual runes, useful in wards and curses and the breaking of both - and Arithmancy - or, the study of the magical properties of numbers and numerology, which can be of great use in spellcrafting. You want to know what letters and syllables to use to make a spell? Look at their numerological magical strength. You can see the usefulness.

"Sometimes, upon upper division student petition, other elective subjects will be taught. Those include Alchemy, magical languages such as Mermish, and Occlumency and Legilimency - the basics of mind magic, namely mind blocking and mind reading.

"It must seem at this point like magic can do anything, but there are certain things it cannot do - it can't bring true life to a lifeless object, and it can't create food, water, or real money.

"Now, check your envelope again. There should be a second piece of parchment inside, detailing school materials required. Very good. Now, let's go through it together.

"Black robes, cloaks, and pointed hats as a uniform. When not out among Muggles, we always wear robes, along with what you would call Victorian-era wear. All pupils' clothes should carry name tags - that's because we have elves to clean your rooms, cook your food, and do your laundry. You won't see them, they don't like to be seen. Course books. Quills, ink, and parchment. For Potions, a cauldron, vials, scales, a knife, dragon hide protective gloves, and potions ingredients from the Apothecary - that's rather like a Muggle pharmacy. A telescope for Astronomy. A wand for spell work. Each student is allowed a pet - either an owl, a cat, or a toad. Oh, and no first year is allowed a flying broomstick - you spend your first year learning flying on the school brooms.

"Once you finish school, of course, you go out into the working world. Wizards and witches have stable career paths just like any other. As for wizarding jobs, there are really four kinds. You can do a working-class job, like be a shop clerk or a caretaker or something. You can work in teaching, in Healing, for the bank (which is mainly run by goblins who need wizards and witches to make and break the curses around their vaults), or you can work for the government; you can be a journalist - there are newspapers and magazines. Or you can specialize in something magical - be a Herbologist, or an Arithmancer, or an Auror (which is a Dark wizard catcher, rather like a policeman), or a Quidditch player or a broom maker, or a dragon tamer or a magizoologist, or a potioneer for the Apothecaries. And then, of course, there are also people in the arts - theater, music, painting, photography, writing, radio disc jockeys, etc.

"Quidditch is the main wizarding sport in Europe, played on broomsticks. We do use photography, and our photos and paintings are charmed to move according to a few basic personality traits, creating a two dimensional form of sentience. And yes, we do have modern music - radio, bands, record players, etc. We typically use new forms of sound with more old fashioned instruments and themes."

"So it's like steampunk."

"What's that?"

"... Never mind."

"Some other side notes: People don't discriminate by race, gender, or sexual orientation in the wizarding world. However, wizards and witches do discriminate by blood. Many wizards and witches even today think Muggles, Muggleborn witches and wizards - such as your mother - and even people raised in Muggle families should be kept out of the wizarding world.

"You see, wizards and witches had it badly during the witch hunts. Most adults could escape Muggle clutches, but Muggles did often used to set fire to wizarding children. That's why the magical world first separated from the Muggle one, and it's why we try to be accepting of diversity - we know what it's like to be discriminated against. Some people became very insulated here in our own little world - they have trouble letting go of the past.

"There was much controversy. A lot of people, even today, think Muggleborn witches and wizards aren't safe in the wizarding world - that they'll have some Muggle Christian self-hatred complex and will carry it in to a bunch of children who don't have any problem being wizards. Or that the Muggles' tether to rationalism will interfere with their ability to perform the more nonsensical forms of magic. Also keep in mind that witches and wizards have been out of contact with Muggles since medieval times, and imagine Muggle standards of cleanliness and livelihood based on that last impression. I say that as a Halfblood myself.

"But the thing is, there aren't enough witches and wizards to sustain a purely Pureblood population. Wizards and witches would all become incredibly inbred if they kicked out all the people with Muggles in their families, the ethical problems of forbidding legitimate wizards and witches entry aside. That's why so many children who come to Hogwarts are Muggleborns. And there are a lot of Muggleborns."

"So where do Muggleborns come from?"

"There are several theories. The most common one says that some witches and wizards marry Muggles and have Muggle families. The magic skips a few generations and then back flips viciously back into the gene pool. It's hard to tell, though, because sometimes a Muggle and a witch can procreate and give birth to several magical children.

"Some Pureblood witches and wizards try to say Muggleborns stole their magic. But no one credible believes that. Magic can't be stolen.

"Finally, a note on being around Muggles. Wizards and witches have to dress in Muggle clothes around Muggles, and are commanded to act as ordinary as possible in their presence. This can be hard - wizards and witches only ever wear robes and pointed hats, or perhaps Victorian-era wear like top hats and pocket watches and handkerchiefs, so Muggle fashion is a struggle for them. But wizards and witches do have little 'tells' - they'll always try to wear purple and green when out in Muggle public, so they can spot each other in a crowd."

"Strange people in purple and green sometimes come up and shake my hand."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"What do you mean? How would they know me?"

"... It starts with a wizard, a Dark wizard, who performed violent, illegal acts. He called himself the Lord Voldemort - which is French for 'flight from death.' This Lord Voldemort sought immortality, which even wizards - who age slower than Muggles - have never been able to master. But his main goal was to destroy all Muggles and Muggleborns, kill them. He was one of those prejudiced who wanted everything to do with Muggles wiped from the face of the earth. He gathered a whole army full of followers who thought like he did, mostly old blue-blood Pure-blood families and Dark creatures, and they began a civil war against the Ministry. He killed so many people, most wizards and witches are afraid to even speak his name.

"Your parents fought on the Ministry's side, defending Muggles and Muggleborns. Your father was a rich Pureblood from an old blue-blood big-money family, your mother a kind and beautiful but poor Muggleborn with a Muggle sister (your Aunt Petunia), so obviously they supported unconventional Muggle-wizarding relationships. It caused quite the scandal, really, their marriage.

"In any case, your father was a duelist and your mother was a Healer. Dumbledore led the Light's fight against the Dark side - and word has it even Voldemort was afraid of him and his power. Voldemort never tried to touch Hogwarts; it's one of the safest and most fortified places in the world, and it's led by Dumbledore.

"Your parents were so powerful that Voldemort came after them personally, so they went into hiding, where they gave birth to and christened you.

"But Voldemort found your family, hiding out in a little village called Godric's Hollow, on Halloween night, one of the most powerfully magical holidays. He came to your house, and killed your parents in front of you. You were only a year old. Then he tried to kill you. But it didn't work. No one knows why. The Killing Curse rebounded off your forehead and all we know is that after that your house exploded and Voldemort was gone. They never found a body, he just... disappeared. Without him, his entire side fell apart, and the Light won the war.

"You and that scar are actually quite famous in the wizarding world. You're the Girl Who Lived. You ended the war. Dumbledore gave you to your Muggle aunt and uncle, first because they were your only living relatives, but second because he didn't want you to grow up famous and get a swelled head. We see where that got you.

"But in our world, at Hogwarts, everyone will know you. And, from your father, you will be fabulously rich."

Something very painful was going on inside Estelle's mind. As the story drew to a close, she remembered again the flash of green light, the pain in her forehead, more clearly than she had ever remembered them before. And she remembered something else, for the first time in her life - a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Voldemort had been laughing as he'd killed them.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"... Can you tell me more about my parents?"

"Of course. I knew them at Hogwarts; I was their teacher as well." McGonagall smiled fondly. "Your father, James Potter, was quite the troublemaker at school. But he was charming, everyone liked him, he was very funny. He was also an excellent Quidditch player. And he excelled in my class, Transfiguration. He _could_ be quite brilliant - when he applied himself, which he didn't always do.

"Your mother, Lily Evans, was kind and imaginative, but quite fiery when she wanted to be. She was excellent at Charms and Healing, along with just about every other magic you could possibly think of.

"They were both very brave, strong people, and good soldiers. They put their money into a good cause. You should be proud of them. You look like them, you know. You look almost exactly like your mother. But you have your father's eyes."

"Professor McGonagall... I have a question," said Estelle uncomfortably. "I know why my uncle and cousin don't like magic. My uncle hates abnormality and things he has no control over; my cousin has simply been conditioned over time to hate me. But what about my aunt? Was she... jealous of my mother?"

She'd always wondered.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "... Your mother was very beautiful, and a very talented witch," she said at last. "Rather like yourself, if that little display of wandless magic with the trunk was any indication. Your aunt is not a particularly attractive woman, for all neatness, nor can I sense a drop of magical blood in her veins."

"Neither can I," Estelle admitted.

"I don't wish to speculate, but does that answer your question?"

Estelle thought about it. "... Yes, ma'am. What about the Potters? I know my mother's side of the family, the Evans family, they were just ordinary Muggles, but..."

"Yes. You have a wizard ancestor from the twelfth century who invented several commonly used medicinal potions. He was always pottering around in his garden - hence, 'Potter.' The Potters are rich because they get a cut of money every single time a Pepper-up Potion or a Skele-grow Potion is bought or made. That's like the Muggle equivalent of having a major share of money in Tylenol sales.

"Let's see, another of your ancestors was also a Muggle rights advocate, and no one in your family struck him off the family tree, which is why many of the stiff old Pureblood families don't consider the Potters 'true' Purebloods... True Purebloods would have struck him off the family tree, you see.

"Oh! And you're related to another famous Pureblood family called the Peverells. The Peverells married into the Potters centuries ago."

"And I have all that money?" Estelle asked, feeling dazed.

"You most certainly do. An ever-growing amount of money. You have a trust fund you can access now, and then the main Potter family account when you come of age at seventeen. You can also have wizarding money transferred into Muggle money at our bank, so you're wealthy in either world. Don't let it go to your head."

McGonagall suddenly tensed; her hand waved and the spell broke, just in time. The waiter bustled in, put their plates of spaghetti down in front of them. "Eat up," he said, smiling in a friendly sort of way.

"Sir," said McGonagall just before he left, "it's this girl's birthday tonight. Her name is Estelle and she likes chocolate. Could you please…?"

The waiter looked delighted. "Of course!" he said.

So all the waiters in the restaurant gathered around Estelle, singing her happy birthday, setting a slice of chocolate cake with a candle in it down in front of her. She smiled, closed her eyes, and wished hard - she wished that the wizarding world was real, that she could always be a part of it and the magic would never end.

She opened her eyes and blew out the candle. Professor McGonagall applauded politely, and everybody cheered.

"Eat up," said Professor McGonagall furtively once they had gone, leaning forward. "I've booked us a stay at a nearby hotel. In the morning, we leave for the London Alleys to buy your witch things. Does that sound like a good birthday?" She seemed genuinely anxious about this.

Estelle smiled and answered honestly. "It sounds like the best birthday I've ever had."


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Estelle woke up in an unfamiliar and strangely comfortable bed the next morning. All the memories came flooding back to her, and suddenly she had to know - she had to know whether yesterday had simply been some bizarre, feverish dream. Her eyes sprang open and she sat up.

She was in a modest but clean and well furnished hotel room. The walls were white, the bed sheets silver, with dark wood furnishings and a large-screen television across the room. In another bed beside her, Minerva McGonagall lay asleep, snoring gently, in a modest nightgown with a high lace collar and a hairnet. A tartan bathrobe from last night's shower hung on the bed post beside her.

Estelle, not having any clothes, had simply gone to bed in her clothes from yesterday: a ruffled rust colored shirt and a bronze skirt. The clothes were rather rumpled now, but there was nothing she could do about that. A single fang pendant hung around her neck, mingling with her long, loose mess of wild dark red hair.

She sat there, her mind turning it over. So this wasn't all a dream. Could it have been a hallucination? Could she possibly have gone a delightful, fantasy-like kind of mad? But no, that didn't fit either, because she had experienced her strange powers, as had other people without fully knowing it, for years before yesterday.

So it was all true. _It was all true._ A wild kind of happiness filled her, expanding in her, choking her. For a moment, foolish, ridiculous tears sprang to her eyes and she put a hand over her mouth.

Once she had composed herself, she realized there was a tapping at the window. She looked over to find two owls fluttering there. One held a newspaper; the other, a magazine. She went straight to the window and jerked it open.

Professor McGonagall had straightened and awoken by this point. She reached stoically into her knit emerald coin purse and counted out a number of strange-looking coins, putting them into drawstring bags attached to the owls' legs. Of course, wizards and witches would have different currency, wouldn't they? The owls dropped their parcels and flew away through the open window.

Professor McGonagall held up the magazine. "This is _Transfiguration Today_ ," she said. Then she held up the newspaper, "And this is the _Daily Prophet_. There is a Daily and an Evening edition. It is very important that you keep up with the wizarding world, which is why you will be getting a subscription to the Daily Prophet today, along with a great deal of technomagic equipment connecting you to the WWN."

"WWN?"

"Wizarding Wireless Network. Our internet and radio signal station. It works anywhere in Britain, and is sponsored by the Ministry - as is Hogwarts, by the way. Hogwarts is also paid for by the government. There is even a trust fund for impoverished students to buy school supplies with. Not that you'll be needing it. All your money is at Gringotts Bank."

The wizarding world sounded better and better by the moment.

"With that said, let's get going. We have a lot to do today." Professor McGonagall stood briskly. "Oh, and once more Miss Potter: Happy eleventh. It is a big birthday for witches and wizards, as it's the year in which you get to start your magical training. Before then, most wizards and witches are schooled in reading, writing, and arithmetic at home. Now is when all the large things come." She gave a small, warm smile. "In light of this," she added stiffly, pretending lack of emotion toward the whole thing, "today I shall buy you your pet."

"You don't have to -" Estelle began awkwardly.

"I know I don't have to. You really must learn to accept presents with good grace, Miss Potter." And with that, Minerva McGonagall bustled into the bathroom.

* * *

Once they had paid for their night at the hotel - in pounds - Professor McGonagall and Estelle stopped on the sidewalk.

"I could Apparate us to London - teleport, you know," said the Professor. "But it is proper to do as little magic as possible around Muggles. So. We will be taking the bus. Stand back." And without further warning, she stuck out her wand arm.

There was a flash of headlights, Estelle leaped backward in alarm, and a moment later there was a deafening BANG. A triple decker, violently purple bus had appeared out of thin air, its tires screeching to a halt exactly where Estelle had been just a moment ago. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Daze Bus.

A little old female conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began speaking loudly to the air.

"Welcome to the Daze Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Totty Philips, and I will be your conductor this afternoon. We also have an alternate Knight Bus route, for all your nighttime traveling needs -"

"Yes, yes," said McGonagall impatiently. "We need to get to London. The Alleys, to be more precise."

"That will be eleven Sickles," said Totty. "But for thirteen you get coffee, and for fifteen you get lunch."

McGonagall reached into her knit emerald coin purse once more and counted out fifteen silver coins.

"Step aboard," said Totty.

They mounted the bus. There were no seats; instead, half a dozen little lunch tables stood beside curtained windows. A few of the tables were already taken by witches and wizards in robes, cloaks, and pointed hats; women wore corsets and their robes resembled dresses and the men in more uniform robes wore vests and pocket watches and top hats, and everyone carried handkerchiefs. A low buzz of chatter filled the bus. McGonagall and Estelle found seats and were served coffee and sandwiches.

"Take her away, Julie!" called Totty. There was another tremendous BANG, the coffee slopped, and Estelle found herself thrown backward by the speed of the bus. Pulling herself up, she stared out the window and saw that they were now bowling along a completely different street.

McGonagall read her newspaper and her magazine, then turned to her iPhone, completely nonchalant. But Estelle watched, fascinated, as buildings flashed past the window. Julie, a plump little red-haired driver, didn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel, but it didn't matter. Even when the Daze Bus mounted the pavement, it didn't hit anything; lines of lamp posts, mail boxes, and bins jumped out of the way as it approached and back into position once it had passed. None of the Muggles they passed seemed to notice the Daze Bus was there.

They stopped off at a few places, different wizards and witches being let off. Then, with sudden BANGs, they would suddenly be driving in an entirely different section of the country. At last, they stopped along Charing Cross Road in London.

"Why are we stopping here?" Estelle asked immediately.

McGonagall pointed at a tiny, grubby little pub. A sign overhead said "The Leaky Cauldron." If it hadn't been pointed out, Estelle wouldn't have noticed it was there. The Muggles walking by never glanced at it, not even once. Estelle and McGonagall exited the bus, and were completely ignored. No eyes turned in their direction. They were too close to the pub and the bus.

McGonagall took Estelle by the shoulder and steered her inside.

The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was very dark and shabby, the wallpaper stained with smoke, which floated in a constant haze over the heads of the crowd. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. There was a low buzz of chatter inside the pub.

The bartender looked up and said, "Professor! The newest Muggleborn, I take it?"

"... In a manner of speaking," said McGonagall dryly.

"Good Lord," said bartender, peering at Estelle. "Is this - can this be -?" His eyes flicked upward to Estelle's forehead, and so, slowly, did everyone else's.

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender. "Estelle Rose Potter... what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Estelle and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Miss Potter, welcome back." Estelle didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.

It hit Estelle, then - that all those people who had shaken her hand for all those years? They'd found out where she'd lived in the Muggle world, and had searched their way there, just for the chance to look at her. The idea was intimidating.

Then before she could do more than process this, there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Estelle found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron. She signed autographs, took pictures with people, shook countless hands, and made an effort to smile at each person, and ask for and try to remember their name.

"Doris Crockford, Miss Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last -"

"So proud, Miss Potter, I'm just so proud -"

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter -"

"Delighted, Miss Potter, just can't tell you. Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle." He was the tiny old man in the violet top hat. Professor McGonagall's lips pursed disapprovingly.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell," McGonagall greeted matter of factly. "Estelle, Professor Quirrell will be your Defense instructor at Hogwarts."

Silently, Estelle offered her hand, and Professor Quirrell grasped it. He bent over it in a chaste kiss.

"P-P-Potter," he said, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you. N-not that you n-need my subject, d-do you?" He laughed nervously.

"I'm sure you have plenty to teach me, Professor Quirrell," Estelle said politely, raising an eyebrow in skepticism.

Quirrell turned pink and looked at his feet. "Y-yes - w-well - y-you'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

"Don't worry, Professor Quirrell, I'm sure the book won't hurt you," Estelle said dryly, deadpan.

Professor Quirrell gave a high, nervous laugh. "I-in these parts, n-new student, y-you never know."

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Estelle to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Professor McGonagall muttered, "This is ridiculous," and then said loudly, "We have to go! Goodbye now!"

"Excuse me," said Estelle to countless people, "goodbye," as McGonagall steered her through the masses, through the Leaky Cauldron's back door, and out into a small walled courtyard where there was nothing but a bin and a few weeds.

Estelle relaxed, tired. "Is it always going to be like that?"

"If it's any consolation, the Hogwarts students should get used to you eventually," said McGonagall. "Really, though! To make such a ruckus! Quite ridiculous!" She huffed.

"And I hope Professor Quirrell gets used to me, too. I mean, he's a combat Professor, he can't always be like that," said Estelle.

"Well," said McGonagall, "actually..."

Estelle stared.

McGonagall sighed, rolling her eyes. "He's a new teacher. I've told Dumbledore I seriously doubt his ability to teach the class properly. He used to be a Muggle Studies professor, but wanted to switch to Defense. He was fine while he was studying out of books but then he took a year off to get some firsthand experience... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit of trouble with a hag - never been the same since. Afraid of the students, afraid of his own subject...

"Now, this is very important. Here is what you have to do to get into the Alleys, our major shopping center and apartment hub." She took out her wand, a short, thin piece of wood. "To get inside, all you have to do is take out your wand - like so - and count bricks in the wall above the trash can. The correct brick is exactly three up and two across from the direct center brick above the trash can. Tap this brick exactly three times with the tip of your wand - like so."

The brick she had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - next second, they were standing before a huge archway. Beyond the archway was a cobblestone street full of colorful little shop buildings, lined with old-age lamp posts. It was marvelously clean. It twisted and turned out of sight.

"This is Diagon Alley, the most famous of them all," said McGonagall matter of factly, in response to Estelle's amazement. "Diagon ends in a dead end. To get to the next street over, you think either left or right. To the right is Knockturn. It is a haven for thieves, murderers, and Dark wizards and witches of all kinds. You most certainly will not be going there with me today. But we can explore the other Alleys to your heart's content. Pret, Oxsipit, and Selestchi I believe are closest to here. We can go anywhere you'd like, but first we have to get your money. So now we go to the bank. Follow me."

They stepped through the archway. Estelle looked back over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. _Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible,_ said a sign hanging over them.

They continued on down the street. Estelle wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying, _Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy._

Several boys of about Estelle's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Estelle heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever -"

There were shops selling robes in wild, Victorian dress-like fashions cooed over by teenage girls, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Estelle had never seen before ("Ward Detectors," said a sign hanging over them), windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

"Gringotts Bank," said McGonagall.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"That is a goblin," said McGonagall quietly. "Goblins are proud, clever, vicious creatures and it is best to keep a safe distance from them. They've tried to uprise several times, and the only reason they haven't managed to do so is because they don't have magic as strong as a wizard or witch's. That's why they need wizards to add and break the magic around their vaults."

They walked up the white stone steps toward the goblin. The goblin was about a head shorter than Estelle. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Estelle noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed_

 _For those who take but do not earn_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

"Some say you'd have to be mad to try and rob Gringotts," said McGonagall seriously. "All the vaults are guarded by spells and enchantments. They say there's dragons guarding the high security vaults. And then you've got to find your way around - we're about to go hundreds of miles under London, into a kind of underground maze. Hard to find a vault, harder still to find your way out."

"Is there just the one Gringotts?"

"One? No, they've taken over almost all of Europe and Africa! You can find them anywhere! Of course, your money's in this bank, but if need be you can ask for the money at another bank and then that amount of money will be taken out of your account here."

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and then they were in a kind of vast marble hall. About a hundred goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these.

"So they're going underground," Estelle said more than asked, pointing at the doors leading off the hall and the people being led into them.

"That's right," said McGonagall. "The goblins show you to your vault. They like to brag about the fact that the money's always there."

They made their way up to the counter. "Miss Estelle Rose Potter wishes to make a withdrawal from her trust fund," said McGonagall with dignity.

"The Potter key, ma'am?" the goblin asked. McGonagall reached into her coat pocket and showed the goblin a tiny gold key. "That seems to be in order," said the goblin, and he handed the golden key down the long counter to Estelle. Estelle took the key curiously and looked into its details, trying to find something that would mark it as particularly the _Potter_ key.

"And I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said McGonagall. "It's about vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Estelle and McGonagall followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Estelle asked.

" _That_ ," said McGonagall with dignity, "is private Hogwarts business."

Griphook the goblin led them out of the hall, through a door, and into a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward, and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a mining cart hurtled up the tracks toward them.

"Are goblins miners?" Estelle asked

"Miners," said Griphook unexpectedly. "And fine jewel and metal workers as well. We make all our own vault keys. That's how we can tell the detail so particularly." They climbed inside, and were off.

At first, they just zoomed at fast speeds down a maze of twisting passages. The cart rattled down the tracks. Griphook wasn't steering.

"Why aren't you steering?" Estelle asked. She wasn't afraid, merely curious.

"There is no need of it," Griphook responded calmly. "We have a magical connection to the metals we work."

They went past bursts of fire at certain doorways, over an underground lake full of stalactites and stalagmites, and then they stopped at last outside a small metal door in the passage wall. The door number said six hundred and eighty seven.

McGonagall was flushed as she got out of the cart. "Always quite invigorating," she said pleasantly. "I used to be a Quidditch player, you know."

Griphook unlocked the door with the small gold key. A lot of green smoke came billowing out.

"What's that?" Estelle asked, pointing. For the first time in her life, she was allowed to ask questions, and it seemed her questions would never end.

"Toxic fumes," said Griphook pleasantly. "Only harmless to those who belong."

Inside the vault was an unreal amount of money. Piles, columns, mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins.

"This is just the trust fund?" Estelle asked in soft amazement.

"Just the trust fund," McGonagall confirmed, smirking grimly. "You'll have much more money upon your seventeenth birthday.

"The gold coins are Galleons," she added, gathering some money up into bags for Estelle. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle."

Eventually, they got back in the cart and zoomed off to vault seven hundred and thirteen. They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine. Estelle leaned over to try to see what was at the dark bottom, but there remained only blackness.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Estelle asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Nothing was in vault seven hundred and thirteen except a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. McGonagall picked it up and tucked it deep inside her coat.

Estelle longed to know what was in the package - what could be that powerful and valuable, and also that small? some sort of jewel, perhaps? - and why it was headed for Hogwarts, but she knew better than to ask.

"Shopping now?" Estelle asked excitedly instead.

"Yes," said McGonagall. "Shopping."

* * *

One wild cart ride later, they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Estelle was still a bit dazed. It hadn't hit her, yet, that she was rich.

"Well, Miss Potter, this is your birthday. Where would you like to go first?" said McGonagall.

"I was really looking forward," said Estelle shyly, "to a wand."

So they went to the wand shop, which was a narrow, shabby place with peeling gold letters over the door that read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC_. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

"The Ollivanders have been here since the times of Ancient Rome," said McGonagall quietly.

They entered the dimly lit shop with a tinkling bell and found themselves staring at a desk. Behind the desk sat thousands and thousands of narrow boxes, which must hold wands, piled neatly right up to the ceiling. A ladder leaned in a corner.

The back of Estelle's neck prickled; the magic was heavy in here, heavy in the dust and silence, secret.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Estelle jumped and looked around. A tiny old man with wispy white hair and wide, pale eyes was standing there. He was honestly a little bit creepy. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Estelle Rose Potter." It wasn't a question. "You look just like your mother. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand: ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." He was stepping ever closer, speaking softly, his unblinking eyes locked on Estelle's. She was frightened and wanted to look away, but did not want to seem afraid. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a pliable mahogany wand of eleven inches, a little more power and excellent for Transfiguration."

"H-how do you remember all that?" Estelle asked.

"Mind magic," said Ollivander. "It can be used to do many things. Read and block minds, such as in Occlumency or Legilimency, that is true. But a skilled mind magician can give themselves perfect memory and vast powers of retention - can learn countless languages, and other such things. In my case, I use mind magic to read the minds of my customers, fit them with their perfect wands, and then remember exactly what they looked like and exactly what their order was."

"And you're reading my mind?" said Estelle in alarm. "Right now?"

"Let me give you a piece of advice," said Ollivander, smirking. "If you don't want a skilled wizard to read your mind... don't look him in the eye."

"So how do you make wands?" Estelle asked. "Is it just wood, length, and flexibility?"

"Oh, no, the core is vital. Each wand has the core of a powerful magical substance. Here at Ollivanders, we use phoenix tail feathers, unicorn hairs, and the heartstrings of dragons."

"And can we only use our own wands?"

"You can use other wands as well, but they will be less effective," said Ollivander. "So take good care of the wand that is given to you."

"So you read our minds and fit us with our perfect wands."

"... In a way. The wand chooses the witch. The witch doesn't choose the wand. So I hand you wands that I think would suit your disposition, and if something happens when you touch the wand, the wand is yours. Simple.

"Alright. Hold out your wand arm." He took out a tape measures, let go of it, and it stood hanging there in the air. Then the tape measure moved of its own accord and began measuring Estelle.

Meanwhile, Ollivander began flitting around the shelves, taking down wand boxes. Eventually, he turned back around and said, "That will do." The tape measure crumpled to a heap on the floor. "Right, then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Estelle took the wand and sliced it economically through the air once. Absolutely nothing happened. Mr Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -"

Estelle tried - but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

"No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Estelle tried. And tried. But nothing happened. Estelle began to get nervous, a kind of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. What if no wand liked her at all? Would she not be able to go to Hogwarts? Where else would she go? The pile of tried wands mounted higher and higher on the shop's spindly waiting chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere -" Then, suddenly, there was some sort of minor explosion from the back of the shop. Estelle ducked reflexively and McGonagall drew her wand - but everything seemed to be unharmed.

To everyone's surprise, Mr Ollivander chuckled. "Your wand is clever," he said. "It's calling to you."

He went to the back of the shop and brought out a dusty old box, faded with time. He took the wand out and placed it in her hands. "Eleven inches, phoenix feather and vine, nice and supple."

Estelle took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Professor McGonagall cried out and applauded, and Mr Ollivander said, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good."

"You said wands match up with personalities," said Estelle. "What does mine say about me?"

Mr Ollivander seemed both thoughtful, and delighted by all the questions. "Well, first, let's cover vine. Because it explains that explosion in the back of the shop.

"The druids considered anything with a woody stem as a tree, and vine makes wands of such a special nature that I have been happy to continue their ancient tradition. Vine wands are among the less common types, and I have been intrigued to notice that their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best. Vine wands seem strongly attracted by personalities with hidden depths, and I have found them more sensitive than any other when it comes to instantly detecting a prospective match. Reliable sources claim that these wands can emit magical effects upon the mere entrance into their room of a suitable owner, and I have twice observed the phenomenon in my own shop. Three times, now, counting you."

"... I _have_ always hungered for more than a commonplace, humdrum life," Estelle admitted, thinking about her strain at the idea of becoming a secretary or a waitress. "And I do often hide my truest artistic visions from people." She was thinking now of the vast, emotional, absurdist art she was capable of creating, and the way it was all hidden underneath her bed, locked away in the cupboard under the stairs.

"Exactly. A sensitive, intelligent wand for a sensitive, intelligent young woman.

"Now, as to the other elements.

"Phoenix feather is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.

"Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalize, and their allegiance is usually hard won. So get started on practicing magic as soon as possible.

"Wand flexibility or rigidity denotes the degree of adaptability and willingness to change possessed by the wand-and-owner pair. In this case, there is a medium ability to adapt - not stubborn, but not a pushover.

"Neater wand lengths favor more elegant and refined spellcasting.

"But your wand is curious in another way. I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather. Just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its mate - why, its mate gave you that scar on your forehead."

Estelle's eyes widened in alarm, a rare show of surprise.

"Yes, indeed. He Who Must Not Be Named's wand was made of yew, thirteen and a half inches, but the core was the same. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the witch, Miss Potter. It's not always clear why. But I think it is clear that we must expect great things from you.

"After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."

"... What a load of crock," said McGonagall firmly after a moment. Estelle smiled and relaxed. She'd been beginning to get a creepy, uncertain feeling, and it was nice knowing at least someone thought Estelle having a connection to her parents' murderer was just silly.

Ollivander was about to retort heatedly, but then Estelle asked longingly: "Mr Ollivander, if I might ask... What did my parents' wands mean?"

Ollivander paused. "Well..." he said, "there's your mother's willow. An excellent wand for charm-work as well. Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

"As for your father's mahogany, I actually don't sell it here," said Ollivander. "His family went by the ancient method of bringing in a material and asking me to work with that. In his case, it was mahogany, broom wood, because he loved flying. But your father's wand indicated both great power and great creativity. As I said, he was excellent at Transfiguration.

"I'm sorry, I know no more."

"... What about Voldemort's - sorry, You Know Who's - wand," Estelle asked tentatively, "yew?"

Ollivander sighed. "It is natural to be curious...

"Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death, which might, of course, be said of all wands; and yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the spheres of dueling and all curses. However, it is untrue to say (as those unlearned in wandlore often do) that those who use yew wands are more likely to be attracted to the Dark Arts than another. While yew wand owners tend to be quite self protective, the witch or wizard best suited to a yew wand might equally prove a fierce protector of others. Wands hewn from these most long-lived trees have been found in the possession of heroes quite as often as of villains. Where wizards have been buried with wands of yew, the wand generally sprouts into a tree guarding the dead owner's grave. What is certain, in my experience, is that the yew wand never chooses either a mediocre or a timid owner. This yew wand, in particular - quite powerful, very powerful stuff indeed.

"And now, back to your wand. It'll cost you seven gold Galleons." Estelle paid. Mr Ollivander wrapped the wand box in brown paper for her and then bowed them from his shop. Estelle itched to have the wand in her pocket, but she knew that would come - with time.

All the same, she was troubled and cold as she left the wand shop.

"Miss Potter, please do not worry," said McGonagall after a pause as they walked down the street together. "Personality typing based on wand materials is just silly. It's a bunch of hocus-pocus, more superstition than theory."

Estelle tried for a smile and a nod.

"Now come on," said McGonagall with a small smile, tilting her head toward Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions, "let's go get you a new, witch look."

Estelle brightened.

* * *

The front of the shop was divided into four sections: _women's, men's, girl's,_ and _boy's_. All wore robes, of course, but the robes varied in style and the other accoutrements also varied widely.

Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve, came up to them. "Hogwarts, I presume?" she said.

"Yes, but we'd like some time to look around first," said Professor McGonagall.

"Of course," said Madam Malkin, stepping back.

Estelle headed over to the girl's section and looked at the robes on display. Most of them looked like loose, knee-length dresses with long and wide, robe-like sleeves. The winter apparel robes did fall the floor, however, as did the winter cloaks. The hats were always pointed witch's hats.

"Fashion only gets complicated as you get older," said Professor McGonagall. "Right now it's fairly basic. The boys' clothes have similar rules."

So they went to the "casual wear" section - as opposed to the much-fancier "dress robes" section - and picked out a number of robes, cloaks, and hats for Estelle to wear besides her Hogwarts uniform. Some of them had fanciful embroidery, sequins, and decorations on them. Estelle focused on patterns with nature themes. Her robe colors included coffee, mahogany, deep periwinkle, turquoise, jade green, deep peach, yellow gold, and bittersweet red. She picked out cloaks and pointed hats in oyster white and earthy beige, and her Hogwarts uniform materials were all black, so that between everything she had accoutrements that would go with basically anything.

Then they grabbed long, loose, billowing black Hogwarts robes, cloak, and pointed hat off the rack and brought it all to Madam Malkin.

"Now you must be fitted to the correct robe and cloak length," she said, "so step right this way."

Madam Malkin led Estelle to the back of the shop. There were two sections here, one series of mirrors with footstools in front of them labeled _Men's_ and one series of mirrors with footstools in front of them labeled _Women's._ Estelle passed by the men's sections and saw a pale boy with sharp features, white blond hair, and grey eyes being fitted to black Hogwarts robes. She was curious; he looked about her age.

He saw her watching and sneered a cold, condescending smile.

"Here with the deputy headmistress, buying a whole new wardrobe. A Muggleborn, I take it?" Before Estelle could answer, the boy continued, in a bored, drawling voice, "You can't fool anyone by dressing like us, you know. Have fun failing all your classes."

His words dripped smiling sarcasm.

Estelle's face flushed and twisted in anger, her hands bunching into fists. "I may come from a Muggle family, but at least I'm not a completely _prat!"_ she snapped. Then she stuck out her tongue and stomped away, ignoring the boy's cry of indignation.

There were angry tears in her eyes as her fitting began.

"Don't worry about him, dear, they're not all like that," Madam Malkin sighed, pinning the yellow gold summer robes to the right length. "That boy's a special case. He's -" She looked around and then whispered, "Well, he's a Malfoy. Old Pureblood family. His father was once accused of Death Eater activities."

"Death Eater?" said Estelle puzzled.

"They followed You Know Who." Madam Malkin shuddered at the thought. "Don't think we're all like him." She winked.

"Don't let them get you down. You look good, dear," said the mirror suddenly, forming a mouth, and Estelle jumped.

"It's just a spell," said Madam Malkin cheerfully. "She's charmed to be catty and give out compliments and fashion advice. It's bloody useless trying to have a conversation with her."

"Speak for yourself," said the mirror.

* * *

Estelle came out in her yellow gold summer robes and oyster white pointed hat, her wand box clutched safely under her arm. McGonagall was using her wand to levitate the rest of the boxes in front of them as they walked.

Estelle told McGonagall what had happened with Malfoy.

"Well," McGonagall sighed, "just pray you don't end up in the same house as him."

"That's right, we're sorted according to school houses," said Estelle curiously.

"Yes, there are four. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each are assigned according to personality traits, rather like wands supposedly are," McGonagall added dubiously. "But this method of sorting is much more certain. It will all be explained when you get there."

"It won't be a test, will it?" Estelle asked worriedly.

She saw McGonagall suppress a smile again. "No, Miss Potter," she said, "no tests are involved. Shall we get your pet?"

"Yes."

"Owl, cat, or toad?"

"... What would you recommend?" Estelle asked at last.

"Well, toads went out of fashion years ago. I would normally recommend a cat, for obvious reasons, but if you want to keep in contact with the wizarding world… I mean, you're from a Muggle family, you don't all have a general home owl," said McGonagall uncomfortably.

Estelle nodded. "You'd recommend an owl so I can keep in contact with wizarding people."

"Essentially."

And so they went to Eeylops, which was full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. "Choose one, Estelle," said McGonagall, raising a lace handkerchief to her nose to cover up the smell of straw and bird droppings.

Estelle looked around, walking about slowly, intently searching each owl in turn… Finally, she came upon one. A beautiful snowy owl perched, dignified, way up high in the back of the shop. The owl seemed to size her up, and then hooted softly.

"That one's a female," said the clerk. "Just fully grown."

Estelle smiled. "I'll take her," she said. Something about it just felt right. And so she left the shop with the snowy owl in a cage, fast asleep with her head under her wing. "Thank you, Professor," said Estelle softly, and she meant it; she was so genuine she was near tears.

"Do try not to start crying, Miss Potter, I do not know how to handle crying people," said Professor McGonagall stiffly. "... And you're welcome."

* * *

They bought parchment and quills. This same shop carried canvases and painting materials, so Estelle bought several new canvases and paint colors, including a kind of paint that changed color as you painted with it. McGonagall insisted her ink colors stick to dark purple, dark blue, dark red, and black, however, which Estelle found rather disappointing. On the plus side, McGonagall pointed her toward some nice white-feather quills, several inkwells whose tops were extra-secured with enchantments, a how-to book on writing with quills and ink, and a scroll organizer.

They bought Estelle's book in a shop called _Flourish and Blotts_ , which was filled with books the size of paving stones bound in leather. Estelle went immediately to the "specialty books" section, though. She asked McGonagall what each and every single type of book was - it turned out that the books the size of postage stamps covered in silk were for the fairies and the leprechauns, the books full of peculiar symbols were written in Ancient Runes, and the books that appeared to have nothing in them at all… varied.

"Some of them, you have to be something magical in particular to read," said McGonagall. "Others are written in invisible ink."

"Can I buy invisible ink?" Estelle asked.

"Why on earth would you want to hand in an essay on magical theory in invisible ink?" McGonagall asked incredulously.

"Alright, then why would anyone buy a book in invisible ink?" asked Estelle, crossing her arms. She found this a very pertinent question.

"... There are certain implements you can buy that reveal invisible ink," said McGonagall with dignity.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"The answer is… I don't know. I don't understand it either," McGonagall admitted, sagging.

Next Estelle went to the books on magic learning and practice. First she asked to buy books on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, then on Divination and Mind Magic, then on Alchemy, then on Potions, and then on Curses and Countercurses. McGonagall said no _every time._

" _Why_ can't I buy these?" said Estelle, frustrated.

"Because they would be completely useless to you at eleven! Not only could you not do any of it, you wouldn't understand any of the theory and most of the terms because you haven't had that basic grounding yet," said Professor McGonagall in exasperation. "I'll tell you what. After your first year, you can come back and buy the books on potions and on curses and countercurses. The rest of the subjects you want are electives available at Hogwarts - though you have to ask in sixth and seventh year for the Alchemy and Mind Magic. I'm afraid you're just going to have to wait till then."

Estelle tried her best not to pout and look disappointed.

"Come with me," said McGonagall. "I will show you extra books that would actually be of some use to you."

And she dumped in Estelle's hands several books on modern magical history and discoveries, one on basic wizarding politics, one on wizarding religion, and one on Hogwarts itself. Then she took Estelle to the music section and added to the pile a radio with WWN service, a record player, and a series of records from contemporary wizarding musicians. Some of the rock musicians wore artfully torn robes, other pop musicians wore robes with fanciful designs, and a half-vampire singer wore black robes with a high collar.

And, finally, they got Estelle's textbooks, which looked interesting enough:

 _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk

 _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

 _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling

 _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

"What about flying? Why aren't there any books on flying?" Estelle asked in concern. She was very much interested in learning how to fly on broomsticks.

"Because flying is a physical practice," said McGonagall, shrugging. "It's intuitive. But we can add…" And she added to the pile a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages._

"The WWN gets Quidditch game commentary, too, so it would be useful for you to understand the game," said McGonagall.

After they paid for Flourish and Blotts, they went to the technomagic electronics store and bought Estelle all-new electronic equipment with connection to the WWN. This included smartphone and laptop, from which she could access other people and the wizarding Internet and watch live-stream Quidditch matches.

They went to the _Daily Prophet_ headquarters next, which was lined with rustling owls and full of the smells of parchment and ink. Estelle wandered through various writing desks as McGonagall paid for her subscription, and among the things she saw were a quill writing on its own as its writer dictated to it, a typewriter doing something similar, and a black and white photograph in which the sentient portraits of the photos smiled and waved at her.

Estelle next wanted a solid gold cauldron, but McGonagall said flatly, "No. It's gaudy. It says pewter on your list, and we're sticking to that… but make it collapsible," she added. "Easier to carry around with you. Self stirring strays a bit too close to cheating for comfort." But they got a nice set of collapsible scales for weighing potion ingredients, and a collapsible brass telescope. McGonagall additionally recommended buying some astronomy models and star charts.

Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Silver unicorn horns were sold, as were black beetle eyes by the trough. Clearly, wizarding medicine was herbal, and they had no compunctions about using animal parts.

In fact, as Estelle watched her potions set be filled, she realized potions were nothing really but cooked herbal concoctions. They also bought black Hungarian Horntail dragon hide protective gloves, a silver knife, and a set of crystal vials. All necessary potions materials.

As they walked out, she asked, "Are wizards and witches always so… that way, with animals?"

"All laws against animal cruelty are relatively new," McGonagall admitted. "For most of history, wizards and witches have had little to no compunctions in using however we wish whatever nature provides us."

Estelle found this a bit sad, but she said nothing.

After they had finished shopping, they explored the other Alleys. Estelle got to practice walking along, thinking left or right, and experiencing the bizarre sensation of suddenly walking along an entirely different street. They passed by grocer's and chain stores such as Gladrags Wizardwear, cafes and restaurants, ice cream parlors and pet food places, and a whole street was devoted just to flats. It really was its own little town, the Alleys.

Estelle was curious about Knockturn, the forbidden place, but she knew better than to ask McGonagall.

"Professor," she asked as they walked in the setting sun, "do you think I'll be successful at Hogwarts?" She'd been thinking of Ollivander, the people in the Leaky Cauldron, and the Malfoy boy. Such mixed experiences and reactions.

After a moment, McGonagall responded. "I think, Miss Potter, that you have a good wand, your parents were very talented wizards, you're extremely bright with a naturally curious mind, and you have a lot of native talent. Never lose those things. Add some hard work into them and you have every ingredient in the recipe for success. There are only three basics, really: have good materials, ask good questions, and work hard. Though a bit of talent never hurts."

"So… I won't be behind everybody else because I come from a Muggle family?" Estelle asked, more uncertainly.

"Despite whatever that Malfoy boy may have said to you," said McGonagall dryly, "I doubt his parents have ever let him pick up a wand in his life."

* * *

They made it back to Diagon, and Estelle suddenly stopped and realized, "What now? I don't have a home to go back to. Perhaps I could rent a room above The Leaky Cauldron. Or perhaps the Potter family have multiple houses?" Most rich Muggle people did.

"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Potter. You can't live on your own, you're eleven," Professor McGonagall dismissed. "No, you don't have to worry about a thing. You're coming back to Hogwarts with me."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note:_ I know JKR does accents for each of her accented characters. I'm not going to do that. So, I'm sorry if it looks like Hagrid's speaking plain old English.

* * *

6.

McGonagall reached out a hand. "Take my arm," she said. "You're about to Side-Along Apparate."

Estelle grabbed the proffered arm.

Then she felt McGonagall's arm twist away from her and she redoubled her grip; the next thing she knew, everything went black; she was being pressed very hard from all directions; she could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around her chest; her eyeballs were being forced back into her head; her eardrums were being pushed deeper into her skull and then -

She gulped great lungfuls of air and opened her streaming eyes. She felt as though she had just been forced down a very tight rubber tube.

"And that," said McGonagall with dignity, "is Side-Along Apparition. Apparition can take you across the whole country if you wish it to. Just not any farther - unsanctioned inter-country Apparition is nasty political business. You will learn Apparition in your sixth year of Hogwarts. Do not try it any sooner or you may splinch yourself - leave parts of your body behind.

"I must say, you took it remarkably well. Most people vomit the first time."

Estelle looked up to realize she was in a quaint little village. It was lined with small shops and cottages. Beyond it was a flat expanse of beautiful green wilderness - twisting rivers and dark green forests and long fields.

"Welcome to Hogsmeade village," said McGonagall. "And if I could invite you to look in that direction?" She smirked and pointed. Estelle turned around and saw that up on a hill above the village was a vast stone castle with many turrets and towers.

"Wow," she whispered. "I'm at Hogwarts."

Still levitating Estelle's things in front of them, they walked through the quiet little village and hiked up the hill, through the gates manned by winged stone boars. Estelle felt a wash of magic as she entered through the gates.

"Have we just passed the wards?" she asked, panting.

"Yes, Miss Potter." Professor McGonagall gave a small smile. "Very good."

They entered through a wide oak front door and came into an entrance hall so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house inside it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. The floor was flagged stone.

"On that side you will see the Great Hall," said McGonagall, pointing at a doorway to the right. "On that side you will see the house points counter." Four tall hourglasses sat on a table. One was filled with rubies, one with emeralds, one with sapphires, and one with diamonds.

They went up the marble staircase and passed through long stone corridors with high striped windows. The corridors were decorated in suits of armor, tapestries, and moving paintings. Hogwarts seemed an incredibly complex place to maneuver. There were often secret passageways hidden behind statues, paintings, or tapestries, and Estelle could hear the suits of armor and the paintings whisper as they passed, climbing staircases and traversing corridors.

At last, they reached a statue of a stone gargoyle at the end of a corridor. "Lemon drops," said McGonagall, and the statue sprang aside to reveal a moving spiral staircase, like a kind of escalator, that moved them around tight corners and up to a door with a bronze knocker in the shape of a gryffin.

McGonagall knocked and entered without further ado, Estelle tentative but curious behind her.

The room was round and tall and brightly lit by windows showing views of a lake, a stadium, a set of greenhouses, and a forest in the distance. It carried countless whirring silver instruments issuing puffs of smoke on little end tables, and a magnificent red and gold bird stood on a gold perch by the door. It cooed softly upon seeing her, in a very musical way, and Estelle suddenly felt warm.

There was a vast oak claw-footed desk, and on the wall behind it hung a series of paintings of important-looking wizards and witches snoozing in their frames. Above them, in weird pride of place, sat a frayed old pointed hat on a special shelf. Sitting behind the desk was a man in purple robes decorated with stars. He had long, flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache, and blue eyes twinkled behind half moon spectacles.

"How unusual, Minerva," he said in amusement. "It is custom for students only to come to Hogwarts upon term starting, using the lake, and yet here you are breaking rules by bringing in young Estelle Rose ahead of time. It is most unlike you."

McGonagall sighed impatiently. "Miss Potter, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore."

Estelle had already heard of how important Dumbledore was, so she said shyly, "Hello, sir."

"Hello, Estelle," said Dumbledore with a small smile, nodding.

"Dumbledore, I have reasons to believe this girl's family may be abusive," said McGonagall baldly. "I want her to live here with us, at Hogwarts."

Estelle looked down, her face reddening. Dumbledore paused.

"Professor McGonagall," he said at last, pained, "as much as I would wish that, too, there are certain reasons why she must stay with the Dursleys."

Estelle felt her heart sink.

"And those are?" Professor McGonagall asked icily, her lips thin and her glasses gleaming in fury.

"Estelle's mother died protecting her, shielding her from an attack." Estelle looked up. "Through this ancient combination of blood and love, Estelle is protected forever. If she lives with her mother's relatives, that protection will extend to her entire place of residence - at least until she comes of age at seventeen and can defend herself. You can understand why this would be favorable for a politically marked celebrity."

Estelle looked down again, this time because her eyes were burning. A confusing mix of emotions welled up within her.

"But - but -" Professor McGonagall was sputtering. "But there must be another way!"

"I am afraid there is not," said Dumbledore somberly. "Estelle has no other living relatives. You know I made the decision to place Estelle with the Dursleys. I have been looking for a way out for ten years.

"However, you could demonstrate some magic to make her stay more… amenable, Minerva?" Dumbledore added lightly, looking over the top of his half-moon glasses.

Estelle didn't understand, but Professor McGonagall suddenly looked fiercely determined.

* * *

And so that was how Estelle ended up back in the Dursleys' empty house, in robes, her boxes and owl cage around her and McGonagall at her side.

McGonagall turned to her. "Where is your bedroom?"

"Where are my _relatives_?"

"They have probably been taken away by animal care and control facilities."

 _"What?!"_

"Let's focus on the bedroom first," said Professor McGonagall. "Where is it?"

"Er, it's, er -" Estelle, still bewildered, walked over to the cupboard under the stairs and opened up the door. She pointed inside. Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared and for a moment in her anger she looked truly frightening.

"Take your things," she said, "and carry them up to a bedroom. Any bedroom."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms. One was for guests - usually Aunt Marge. One was for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. One was for Dudley. And one was where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. This was the room Estelle chose as her own.

She put her stuff down in the middle of the room, content, marking her place. Professor McGonagall looked around, wrinkled her nose, and then waved her wand. All the broken and discarded toys in the room vanished, leaving it completely clean. She waved her wand again and the bed became larger and more comfortable.

Then she waved her wand again - it rose higher and higher - and as it did the room became bigger and bigger. Soon, extra rooms formed, growing from the sides of the walls, until fairly quickly a whole house was where a bedroom had once been. An entire, empty house, complete with kitchen and bathroom.

Estelle walked outside the door and the room looked no different - just an ordinary bedroom.

"Neat trick," she admitted. "But I thought you could only do that with Ministry permission?"

"Albus built the wards around this house. He is… _helping_ us," said Minerva. "But don't tell anyone, okay?

"I suppose we should hook your house up to the Floo network," she added casually as they walked back down the stairs. "Get your fireplace hooked into -"

"Nah, the Dursleys would kill me," said Estelle reluctantly. "I'm alright with just the owl, the phone, and the Internet. I don't want to have to bother the Dursleys - I mean, I'd like to interact with them as little as possible."

"Understood," said McGonagall.

And then they just began moving everything inside - piano, everything from the cupboard, all the boxes, and they put the owl with its open cage door by the single window. Then they began stealing pieces of the Dursleys' furniture, and Professor McGonagall did some interior decorating, transforming the decor into something of Estelle's own choosing and liking.

She chose shabby chic in the French country style for her interior decorating. It had the kind of elegant, antique look she thought would suit a wealthy witch's home. She put her own wild paintings and drawings up on the walls as decoration. The window, which was by the kitchen sink, was framed with airy curtains, and Estelle imagined sometimes piano or violin music would leak out of it from time to time along with the snowy owl. Professor McGonagall even charmed Estelle's mirror to carry on friendly conversations with her.

At the end, Professor McGonagall put a spell on the window and on the door. "Now the only people who will be allowed to enter are people you choose to let in," she said. "Every time you'd like a new person to enter, you announce it to the door. If not… rather nasty things could happen to anyone who tries to enter, I'm afraid," she added, her tone purposefully light.

Estelle nodded. "I choose to let in Estelle Rose Potter and Minerva McGonagall," she said. Then she paused. "And Albus Dumbledore," she added at last. "Do not let in anyone with the surname Dursley." The lock and the doorknob suddenly jiggled, seeming to tighten.

"Now the problem is being able to cook and clean for yourself -" McGonagall began.

"I already know how to do that," Estelle said. "And with the wizarding bus route, and all the money I now have, I can go and do wherever and whatever I need on my own."

McGonagall nodded. Then, reserved, she handed Estelle an envelope. "Your ticket onto the Hogwarts Express," she said. "At eleven o'clock on September the first, the train departs. It waits for no one. Do not be late.

"To get onto platform nine and three-quarters, you enter King's Cross Station in London and then run straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important."

Estelle nodded, pocketing the ticket alongside her Hogwarts letter and envelope, her wand, and her vault key.

"Now." McGonagall smiled tightly. "Let's go downstairs and get your relatives."

* * *

McGonagall made sure Estelle was safely behind her. Then she took out her wand and said informatively, "Miss Potter, this is called spot-summoning. It's more complicated than regular summoning, because it means I have to summon them to me right here on the spot, instead of having them fly through the air across the country toward me over a series of hours. Which would be entertaining, but I think Muggles would notice."

"Okay," said Estelle, watching intently. It sounded useful and she wanted to be able to do it for herself one day.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand. A duck, a chicken, and a pig all fell on their butts in front of McGonagall, appearing suddenly out of thin air.

The duck quacked, the chicken squawked, and the pig snorted and they all began running around the living room in fear. Estelle started laughing, and she was still laughing when Professor McGonagall called, "And this is reverse-Transfiguration!" She waved her wand and the animals became people again.

Aunt Petunia screamed and Dudley squeaked. They both ran to hide behind Uncle Vernon, who was crouching, terrified, in a corner.

Professor McGonagall walked over and kneeled down to look them in the eye, smirking. "Your son no longer has a second bedroom. It is now your niece's room. She will not come out of that room for anything, including food or toilet facilities. She will only walk out of the room to leave the house. You will no longer have to pay for anything for her, including clothes and hobbies. She is now essentially your live-in guest. Do we understand each other?"

The Dursleys all looked around Professor McGonagall to Estelle. She was still in her yellow robes and pointed light-colored hat. She took out her wand and waved it a bit in indication.

Petunia screamed in horror, "They've indoctrinated her!" and Vernon and Dudley flinched reflexively.

"And if you ever do anything to hurt her again," McGonagall added in a hushed voice, leaning farther forward, "I will know. And I will do _worse_ things to you next time should any harm befall her. Do we understand each other?"

The Dursleys all nodded quickly, pale and feeble.

"Good." Professor McGonagall stood, her expression suddenly matter of fact, turned around, and walked away. "Miss Potter." She nodded. "I expect to see you on the evening of September the first."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you," said Estelle. "Er - by the way -" she added awkwardly. "Can I… write to you this summer?"

McGonagall gave a small smile. "Certainly. You may ask me any questions you'd like. I look forward to our correspondence." She said this just loud enough for the Dursleys to overhear. They flinched and for a split second Estelle thought Professor McGonagall looked satisfied.

* * *

Estelle was happier during her last month with the Dursleys than she had ever been in her whole life before. And she never thought she'd say that.

But she didn't really see the Dursleys anymore. She rarely left her own private quarters except to leave the house, and whenever she did Dudley screamed and ran from whatever room she was in. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon both pretended to studiously ignore her existence. No one hit her, forced her to do anything, locked her in her cupboard, or shouted at her, and slowly she began to relax into a kind of routine. Half terrified, half furious, the Dursleys acted as though any chair with Estelle in it were empty. And so usually, it was.

Estelle kept to her set of rooms, doing her art in the open for once, adding pieces of decoration here and there, cooking meals for herself for a change. She could eat whatever she wanted, watch whatever she wanted via the Internet, and she only needed to clean up after herself - and after her snowy owl, who swept in and out of the open window as she pleased, and who kept bringing back dead mice. Estelle had decided to call her owl Hedwig, a name she had found in _A History of Magic_. Hedwig had been a powerful German witch sainted by the Pagan European wizarding world in medieval times.

Estelle's books were fascinating. She not only read all her essential school texts, she also read _Quidditch Through the Ages, Modern Magical History, Modern Magical Discoveries, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, Hogwarts: A History, Politics of Wizarding Great Britain,_ and _Wiccanism: A Guide_. She just stayed up reading all day and late into the night, every day, for one solid month. The sheer amount of pages she got through was incredible.

She also practiced spells and potions - potions over the stove. She already knew cooking and gardening, which she thought would be a big bonus in Potions and Herbology. Sure enough, Potions was much like cooking. It involved chopping and crushing, timing, heating, stirring, all the essential elements of cooking. So naturally, she was very good at it.

The spells were harder. Ollivander had told her to get an early start on spellwork and so she did. She could see what he'd meant - her wand struggled with her at every turn. She channelled the magic correctly into the wand, did the correct wand movements, said the spell correctly, and pictured what she wanted in her mind, but usually either her wand did nothing or it did the wrong thing. That happened a lot at first. But by the time summer was over, she'd gotten down a few basic spells, and she realized her control over her wandless magic had improved enormously - as had her imagination for what magic could do.

She sent regular correspondence to Professor McGonagall, asking her about different pieces of magic and about Wiccan beliefs, and they struck up a friendship. Through the questions on Wiccanism, Estelle learned more about McGonagall's past - her father had been a Presbyterian minister, a strict one, and her mother had been a witch. It hadn't been a happy marriage, and it had left a young Minerva McGonagall with rather mixed feelings about both Christianity and Muggles. This mixed feeling seemed to be reflective of the wizarding world at large. After the witch burnings, that was only to be expected.

Professor McGonagall was much happier to talk about Quidditch. She'd played Quidditch herself at Hogwarts, on the Gryffindor house team, and she had her favorite teams. The Holyhead Harpies, an all-female British team, were her especial favorites, and she cheered for Scotland because her family had been Scottish. She was an expert in telling Estelle about any rule, any call, any match, any player.

Estelle also listened to and used the WWN nearly every day. She got used to her new technology, to wizarding websites and Internet access and texting. She made lots of new accounts, and then wished she knew mind magic so she'd be able to remember all of them. She started following Quidditch (she liked the Holyhead Harpies, because of McGonagall, and also the Kenmare Kestrals - she cheered for England), listened to all her new wizarding music (Lorcan D'Eath, The Weird Sisters, and Celestina Warbeck were her favorites), used the radio often, and she got the _Daily Prophet_ by owl every morning. She got used to the face of Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, a pudding-faced little man in a bizarre assortment of clothes, and she like everyone else followed all the latest updates on the break-in into Gringotts. Someone had gotten in and out of Gringotts without being found, but they hadn't taken anything because the vault had already been emptied earlier that very same day - July thirty-first.

And if Estelle made any connections between the small package removed and taken to Hogwarts, and the thief's break-in, she kept those connections to herself.

With all her reading and art and magic-practicing, and all her letter-writing, she didn't have much time to do anything else. But she did on occasion take the wizarding bus route to different parts of the country. She made a day of it alone at Blackpool, for example. And she visited the Alleys from time to time - though she didn't think it wise to head down Knockturn, supposedly a Dark haven, until she knew a bit more magic.

At Gringotts, curious, she had asked for a complete statement of all her accounts, and had been amazed by the long parchment list that had been handed to her. Safe to say, she had all the money she needed for a long time. She also had _two_ manors. Two!

It was a quiet life and, if Estelle could admit it to herself, a somewhat lonely life as well. The only thing she craved in this amazing new life of hers was other wizards and witches - other people. The mirror was nice enough, but it was a bit like the silvery voice on a smartphone - it had a few set responses and phrases, but could not carry on more than a basic exchange. Estelle childishly craved human contact. That was why, every night before she went to sleep, she ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.

And then, on August thirty-first, she ticked off the last day and smiled in growing excitement. It was time.

* * *

She got up early, because she knew a lot of people would be using the bus to get to King's Cross today and the bus route had agreed to only make two stops at King's Cross before eleven o'clock. She wanted to make the earlier stop. Just in case.

She put on Muggle clothes because she'd be walking through a Muggle train station (this time a greyish-green shift dress with a fanciful wooden necklace and her fang hairclip), checked her Hogwarts list yet again to make sure she had everything she needed, made sure she was all packed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then it began.

She turned off everything in her house, locked the window, shut the window curtains, and wandlessly levitated her trunk and owl cage out the door. She closed it securely, made sure it was locked so the Dursleys couldn't ransack the place over the school year. Then - it was barely 5 AM and nobody else was awake - she silently levitated her things down the stairs and out the front door. She used the spare key by the eves and locked up the Dursleys' house, then pulled her trunk and owl down to the sidewalk and stuck out her wand arm.

She looked around just before getting onto the bus, and saw a pair of blue eyes framed by blonde hair standing by the upper story window. The minute she met those eyes, the Dursleys' bedroom curtain slid shut again.

And Estelle just had time to ponder that Aunt Petunia hadn't looked glad to see her go at all.

* * *

Totty, who had found out who she was ages ago, chattered excitedly to Estelle all the way to London. She even helped Estelle put her things into a trolley, amid the flood of other students exiting the bus. Estelle had gotten to the station early in the morning, with hours to spare, so she got breakfast at the station and sat down in a cheap plastic seat to eat, her things beside her. People stared a lot at the owl in the cage, but Estelle thought they could all sod off for all she cared.

At last, at about half past ten according to the big clock above the arrivals board, she pushed her trolley over to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. She walked toward it slow and casual, people jostling her on their way to other platforms. Estelle looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then _leaned_ through - And stumbled.

She looked up and she and her trunk were on a platform.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Estelle looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. She felt a great leap of excitement.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. Wizarding parents in robes holding the hands of one or two children appeared suddenly along the platform every few feet.

The first few carriages seemed to be filled mostly with older students, already wearing their billowing black Hogwarts robes and sporting shiny silver P badges on their chests - P for Prefect, probably. The carriages beyond those were filled with younger children, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Estelle found an empty compartment near the middle of the train, pushed her trolley over to it, and levitated her things inside. It looked just like a regular Muggle train compartment, except for the lamp hanging from a chain in the corner that Estelle supposed magically lit itself at night.

Estelle curled up in a compartment corner with a book - she'd finally moved on to wizarding fiction; this particular book was a mystery novel about a young witch who'd lost her powers and was forced to try to make her way through the Muggle world as she chased down the person who had stolen her magic, trying to get it back - and put her drawing pad beside her for later use. Then she pushed her fringe down low over her forehead and listened to the world pass by.

She was interrupted, eventually, by other people coming into the compartment - all first years who didn't have any friends to meet up with yet. The first one was a brown-haired boy who hopped onto the train and then leaned out the window to say goodbye to his parents, who were both dressed in wizard's robes. Soon after that came a pudgy, round-faced boy led by his grandmother, a formidable-looking woman in a stuffed vulture hat. She, too, was clearly magical.

"Gran, I've lost my toad again," said the round-faced boy, checking his pockets.

"Oh, _Neville_ ," the old woman sighed.

"Erm - it's right there." Estelle pointed to a compartment corner. She'd always had a knack for spotting things other people didn't.

"Right, thanks. Oh, no -!"

The toad had made a leap for freedom. Estelle, with her quick reflexes, reached out and caught it. She handed the struggling toad over to Neville.

 _"Stay with her,_ " said Neville's Gran in good-natured exasperation.

"Thanks," Neville said again, sheepishly, stuffing the toad in his pocket. "Trevor's always trying to get away from me. He was a present for getting into Hogwarts, and I don't want to lose him."

"Who gave you Trevor?" Estelle asked, frowning, remembering McGonagall's words that toads went out of fashion years ago.

"My Great Uncle Algie." Neville rolled his eyes slightly when his Gran wasn't looking. "Yeah," he muttered. "I _know._ "

"Hello, Neville," said the brown-haired boy. He had a thin, friendly, open, smiling sort of face.

"Hey, Terry," said Neville.

"You two know each other?" Estelle asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We're both Purebloods," said Terry. "I'm from the Boot family and Neville here is from the Longbottom family. Oh, look, there's Lisa. She's a Turpin. Hey, Lisa."

"Hi, everyone," said a bespectacled girl shyly, taking a seat across from them.

"Where's your sister?" said Terry.

"Sh-she's up at the front with the others," Lisa murmured, blushing and looking down at her lap.

"Ah," said Terry, as Neville looked awkward. It was plain Lisa's older sister was not watching over her as fervently as Lisa had hoped. "Well - So I take it you're a Muggleborn," he added to Estelle curiously, and to Estelle's relief, he added, "Nothing wrong with that." The others seemed to agree.

"Sort of. I'm from a Muggle family," said Estelle. She put out her hand and smiled dryly. "My name is Estelle Rose Potter," she said, reserved.

Their eyes widened and one by one they flicked up to her forehead. She removed her fringe to reveal the scar.

"That's… that's amazing," said Terry, thunderstruck.

Estelle let her fringe fall again. "Oh, I'm quite ordinary," she said in amusement, playful, "I can assure you."

A whistle sounded. Terry, Lisa, and Neville reluctantly tore themselves away to lean out the windows and say goodbye to their families. Estelle watched from the corner as they got kisses and hugs, and she tried not to be envious. She tried very hard.

The train began to move. Even Estelle leaned forward to watch the platform begin to fall away. Countless wizards, witches, and even Muggle parents stood back and waved their students goodbye. Then the train had rounded the corner and they were gone.

Houses flashed past the window. Estelle felt a great leap of excitement. She didn't know what she was going to - but it had to be better than what she was leaving behind.

All of a sudden, a shriek erupted from the corridor outside. Terry raised an eyebrow and looked at the others. "Want to go check it out?"

"Yes," said Estelle, standing up, determined, and Neville and Lisa seemed to follow her lead, still a bit awestruck. They pushed out into the corridor. (Estelle caught Trevor the toad in the midst of a bid for another escape and murmured, "Really, Neville!")

A Black boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd. He looked older, maybe fourteen. He had a giant tarantula with long, hairy legs climbing all over his arms. He was grinning, and several girls had their hands over their mouths.

Suddenly, the spider fell - there were screams - but it hung from Lee's arm by a silken thread. Everyone clapped and cheered, except for two twin redheads who were clearly the boy's friends, who grinned and let out loud boos.

"Move it, sorry, out of the way!" A couple of boys of about Estelle's age shoved past her and the crowd, racing each other down to the end of the corridor. There was a great tone of excitement in the air.

"I want to try," said Estelle boldly and loudly, on their next way back.

The boys grinned. "Ooh, a girl….!"

"She's not just any girl!" said Terry in an impressive tone. "She's - urgh!" Estelle had suddenly elbowed him hard in the side, still smiling.

So Estelle got into line at one end of the corridor, her eyes determined. Terry decided to try racing, too - he was still rubbing his ribs - though Neville and Lisa, shyer, stood off to the side watching.

"One - two - three - GO!" They pushed and shoved each other mercilessly all the way to the other end of the corridor, galloping - Estelle put on a spurt of speed, racing ahead - and she got to the end of the corridor first by about three seconds.

"Ha!" She smirked, feeling bold. "And that's how you run, you big galloomphs!"

They boys stopped, hands over their knees. "Where did you learn to _run_ like that?" one of the boys asked disbelievingly.

"Years of experience," said Estelle, thinking of Dudley.

"She's -! Am I allowed to tell them now without you hitting me?" Terry asked grumpily.

Estelle sighed. "Sure."

"She's Estelle Potter!"

The two boys stared at Estelle, who gave a weak little smile and a wave. "You two know who I am as well, do you?"

"Even Halfbloods know who you are," said the dark haired boy, still staring.

"I'm a Halfblood, too," the blond admitted. "Wayne Hopkins." He offered a hand.

"Michael Corner," said the dark haired one, offering a hand as well.

"D'you all want to come back to our compartment?" Estelle asked. She felt in the mood to make friends.

So Michael and Wayne followed Terry and Estelle back to the compartment. The boy with dreadlocks was gone by now. Neville and Lisa inched back into the compartment alongside them.

"You can sit by me, Lisa," said Estelle, smiling. "Us girls, we've got to stick together." She patted the seat beside herself. Lisa smiled shyly and sat gratefully next to Estelle.

"Oy! We outnumber you girls! We could kick you both out!" shouted Michael.

"I have my wand and I've already learned a paralysis spell, so keep your shirt on," said Estelle contemptuously.

By now, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields and lanes full of cows and sheep. Suddenly, there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

"Have you ever had wizarding sweets, Estelle?" Terry asked. When Estelle shook her head, the compartment nearly exploded. "Oh, you wait, they're the best thing ever!"

And so they made Estelle buy at least one of everything: not only a bottle of ice-cold pumpkin juice, but a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, a box of Bolandi's Exquisite Crystallized Pineapple, a Cauldron Cake, a thing of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, an Exploding Bonbon, a Fizzing Whizzbee, a Glacial Snowflake, a box of Ice Mice, a Licorice Wand, a Pumpkin Pasty, a Sugar Quill, and jelly and chocolate treats in all sorts of fanciful shapes, including skulls, slugs, cauldrons, eggs, frogs, skeletons, and wands.

They tipped it all onto the table in front of them and began eating up, falling into a hum of friendly chatter. Estelle got into a spirited argument with Terry about the Kestrals' most recent defeat of the Falmouth Falcons in the arena of professional Quidditch, and she and Lisa squealed over how hot Lorcan D'Eath the dark-robed half-vampire musician was. (They both agreed the Weird Sisters were a little too hairy for their taste.) Their conversation eventually moved to the schoolbooks the two of them had read over the summer, and what they thought classes at Hogwarts would be like. Estelle didn't mention that she'd already visited Hogwarts. She didn't want people to start asking her _why._

She also learned countless curious things about wizarding sweets. Everyone in the compartment laughed hysterically when she popped a handful of jelly beans in her mouth and got the flavors beef casserole, fish, grape jelly, and apple all at the same time. Michael and Wayne laughed so hard an irritated Estelle sent a jet of magic at them and they had to yell and scurry back into their seats. Estelle learned to be a bit more careful with Bertie Botts after that. (She also got chocolate, cinnamon, lemon, liver, belly button lint, and mint.)

Exploding bonbons exploded in the mouth. Drooble's gum blew bluebell colored bubbles that could last for days. Fizzing Whizzbees were sherbet balls that made them float a few inches above their seats. Ice mice made their teeth chatter. Chocolate frogs all had a trading card carrying a famous witch or wizard inside them. Estelle's first was Dumbledore - the back of the card told her that Dumbledore had defeated the Dark wizard Grindelwald fifty years ago, had discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and had done extensive and groundbreaking work on alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel. That Dumbledore was apparently so important some of his achievements weren't even mentioned was remarkable enough in itself.

Estelle immediately traded for all the coolest women and among her favorites were Tilly Toke (an otherwise ordinary woman who had bravely saved a large number of Muggles from a dragon attack), Morgana (a Dark witch, the powerful and seductive nemesis of medieval Muggle rights advocate Merlin), and the druidess Cliodna (a forerunner of the modern Wiccan spiritual leader who had discovered the properties of Moondew and who could turn into a seabird). Through this, she got to talking wizarding comics with Wayne, who had a massive trading card collection and who recommended his favorite comics to her.

It was a nice feeling, eating sweets and talking wizarding stuff with other people. Estelle felt normal - like she belonged somewhere, like she had finally found her home. She'd never really had that experience before.

Eventually, the compartment door slid open. A girl with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth stood there. "Hello," she said in a matter-of-fact, take-no-prisoners, precocious sort of voice, "I'm taking a poll. Which house would you all rather be in?"

"Oh, sod off, no one knows what house they'll be in until they get there," said Terry in irritation.

The girl huffed. "How rude! I was just thinking -"

"We don't get to choose." Everyone turned to look at Estelle. "We don't get to choose our house," she said, nonplussed. "We're sorted by personality. That's what McGonagall told me."

"Yeah, we each have to try on a talking hat," said Neville casually. "What?" he said when everyone stared at him. "It's true!"

"Are you sure that wasn't just your Gran and your Great Uncle leading you on -?" said Terry, grinning, and Neville told Terry to do something very rude. Terry told Neville in a teasing way that his grandmother would be ashamed of him, and Neville was threatening to throw his toad at Terry's face when the bushy-haired girl said, "Boys! Boys! No fighting! Calm down!"

The boys subsided, reluctantly.

"There's too much testosterone in this compartment," said Estelle to the girl. "Care to join us?"

The girl looked delighted. "Certainly! I'm Hermione Granger. Nobody in my family is magic at all, but what I'm more interested in…" Her eyes had lit upon the book in Estelle's lap, "is your _book_."

"Take a seat, then. Estelle Rose Potter," Estelle introduced herself in greeting, "and this is Lisa." Lisa smiled and waved shyly.

Hermione gasped in excitement. "Really? Oh, I know all about you, of course. You're in -"

"I know," said Estelle dryly. "A lot of books." Hermione appeared to be a Reader.

"You know, well, of course you do. I'd have found out everything I could, too, if it was me." And from there the conversation went back to books. Hermione did a lot of the talking. She could speak at high speeds nonstop for several minutes. Hermione was a Talker as well as a Reader. She had the unique honor of having read even more books over the summer than Estelle herself had.

Eventually, on their request upon seeing her sketch pad, Estelle drew a portrait of each of her new friends. That took up a lot of time.

"Well, Boot, nice to know you haven't been choosy in the company you've been keeping."

Everyone looked around. Hermione had left the compartment door open, and standing there was the pale, white-blond, sharp-featured boy with the bored, drawling voice from Madam Malkins. He had two large male friends, one on either side, standing one on each shoulder, hemming him in like bodyguards.

"Malfoy, was it?" Estelle asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Not like you would know," the boy sneered contemptuously. "Boot, really? Four people I don't recognize, and two of them girls?"

"There's nothing wrong with not being a Pureblood," said Terry frostily. "And for your information, Malfoy, that redheaded girl you just blew off is Estelle Potter."

For the first time, surprise flitted over Malfoy's face. He looked over at Estelle, who smirked and pushed aside her hair to reveal the scar once more.

"And you're interfering with the atmosphere," she told Malfoy loftily, waving a hand, "so _shoo._ "

Malfoy's pale face flushed pink. "Look," he said, clearly flustered, "I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Draco -"

"Well, hello, Draco, I'm Fuck You." This was a word Estelle had learned from Dudley. There were a couple of gasps and Draco went for his wand - "Oh, what are you going to do? Throw sparks at me?" said Estelle contemptuously. "Thought you'd mock me back at Diagon for being a Muggleborn, did you? I've already heard the rumors about your family, Draco. I know exactly what kind of people _you_ are." Her eyes flashed.

"You'd better be careful, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents -"

He smirked as Estelle suddenly stood to her feet, flushing. "Estelle! Estelle, no -!" Hermione hissed, she and Lisa desperately trying to pull Estelle back into her seat.

"And I don't have to do anything." Draco smirked and waved a hand. "Crabbe and Goyle can do the punishing for me." The two thugs stepped forward, cracking their knuckles.

Estelle would have to do this carefully. She had already read that Parseltongue, snake language, was seen as a Dark power, and hadn't that been an eerie thought? Estelle had no interest in looking wantonly violent. She just wanted to look intimidating. Like a sunning snake, she just wanted to be left alone.

So she threw out her hands in a show of wandless magic, and Crabbe and Goyle were slammed against the compartment walls. They slid groaning to the floor.

Malfoy swallowed, backing up. "How - how did you do that -?" he demanded.

Estelle smirked. "You want to see what else I can do?"

Malfoy said quietly to Crabbe and Goyle, "... Come on. Let's go." He was eyeing her watchfully. He and his cronies slunk out of the compartment.

"Estelle, that was amazing!" said Hermione and Terry at the same time, as all her other friends were gaping in disbelief.

Estelle smiled and shrugged. "Oh," she said, "it was nothing."

They were in Hogwarts country now. Passing by woods, twisting rivers, dark green hills, mountains, and forests. The sky was darkening and the lanterns in the compartment corners had lit themselves.

"We should put our robes on," said Hermione suddenly. "We've got to be prepared for when the train arrives at Hogwarts!"

So the boys left the compartment while the girls changed into black robes, cloak, and pointed hat. Then the girls left the compartment while the boys changed. On Estelle's recommendation, they all stowed their wands away inside their robes. The train did seem to be slowing down.

Estelle exchanged smartphone numbers and WandOn accounts (a sort of social media service) with Hermione, Lisa, Neville, Terry, Michael, and Wayne. They all promised to keep in touch with each other at Hogwarts.

At last, a voice echoed, magically magnified, through the train, in place of a microphone: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Estelle shoved her book, drawing pad, and new Chocolate Frog trading cards inside her trunk, sealed it shut, and said an apologetic goodbye to an irritated and ruffled looking Hedwig. Then she and her friends joined the crowd thronging the corridor. Estelle felt mounting excitement and tension.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. The night air was cold. Estelle drew her cloak tighter around herself. She could see the distant lights of Hogsmeade village, and the entire student body seemed to be heading in that direction. But then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, accompanied by a booming voice. "First years! First years over here!"

A giant of a man in a thick overcoat was standing there. He had wild black hair and beard hiding most of his face, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

"Who is _that_?" Hermione whispered, rather loudly.

"Must be the groundskeeper," said Terry, frowning. "That's Rubeus Hagrid."

"He looks rather fearsome," Lisa murmured.

"Eh, I could take him," Michael said contemptuously.

"I wouldn't try it," said Wayne in gentle amusement.

Neville was hiding from Hagrid's view behind Estelle, clutching at her sleeve. Estelle sighed, grabbed his toad mid-jump, and handed it calmly to him again.

"What's he like?" Estelle asked Terry curiously, nodding to Hagrid.

"Well, he's a great groundskeeper. Nice enough man, too, according to everyone I know. Not as scary as he looks. But he's a school dropout - was expelled, apparently - and he's supposed to drink rather a lot."

Hagrid was still shouting. "Come on, follow me - any more first years? Mind your step, now! First years, follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid in the opposite way from where the rest of the school seemed to be going, down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side that Estelle thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. It had been impressed upon them all, suddenly, the enormity of what they were about to do.

"You'll get your first sight of Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "just round this bend here."

There was a loud, "Oooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of the great black lake. In the distance, sure enough, Estelle could see the forest and the stadium on one side of the lake, the darkened greenhouses on the other. They were behind the castle, on the other side from the standard entrance. Because there, perched atop a high mountain on the other side of the lake, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was Hogwarts castle.

"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Estelle was followed into her boat by Lisa, Hermione, and Terry. Michael, Wayne, and Neville took the boat next to Estelle's, and were joined by a red-haired, freckled boy in shabby, too-short Hogwarts robes - obviously hand me downs.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

They clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door. Estelle chanced a glance behind her, back down the other side of the mountain, and saw the gates topped with winged boars, Hogsmeade village beyond them.

"Everyone here?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

The door swung open at once, to reveal Professor McGonagall on the other side, looking very smart in a set of emerald green robes.

Estelle brightened, and Professor McGonagall offered her a small smile and a nod.

"The first years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide and allowed the first years into the entrance hall. Estelle saw Hagrid slip away, to where the door on the right was humming with the drone of hundreds of voices - that was the Great Hall. She saw him open the door, the noise got louder for a moment, then the door slid shut again and they were alone with Professor McGonagall.

They followed her across the floor, but not into the Great Hall. Instead, she showed them into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. She wasn't the dry, sarcastic, smirking woman who loved sports now. Right now, she was in her formal role as instructor, and it was an intimidating one. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will win you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

Estelle saw Professor McGonagall look meaningfully in her direction as she said this. She resolved, then, firmly, to show her house well. In some way, she would make it stand out. And she would make herself stand out in the process - separate from her fame.

Estelle could have sworn she saw McGonagall suppress a smile before she looked back to the rest of the group.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the dirty, smudge-nosed face of the red-haired boy from Neville's boat.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber.

Estelle chanced a glance around herself. Everyone looked somewhere between nervous and downright petrified. To have your personality read was one thing, she thought, but to have it read in front of the rest of the _school_ … and for _that_ to decide your fate… was quite another.

She was just pondering this when something made her tense and whirl around, going for her wand - several people behind her had just screamed. She saw what they were screaming at, and gasped. So did the people around her.

About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years.

"There are _ghosts?_ " Estelle whispered to Terry.

"Of course there are ghosts," said Terry, as though this were a silly question. "You don't find them everywhere, though. Only in really old places… But they don't usually hurt anything. That's more ghouls and poltergeists; they're what you're looking for."

Estelle watched the ghosts in fascination. Out of all the magical apparitions she had ever heard of, both dreadful and kind… She'd always found the living dead most interesting.

They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Estelle opened her mouth and closed it. Cleared her throat, and spoke. "We're, erm - we're about to be Sorted." Nobody else seemed about to say anything - not even Malfoy.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said McGonagall's voice, suddenly and sharply. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

She had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Estelle felt a jump of nervousness in the pit of her stomach. She and her cohorts formed a long line: Terry, then Estelle, then Hermione, then Lisa, then Wayne, then Michael, then Neville, and last the red-haired boy whose name she hadn't caught. Beyond Terry, a few people ahead, she could spot Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Estelle had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Estelle looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

Hermione began to whisper, "It's bewitched to look like -"

"The sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_ ," Estelle finished in amusement. They looked down at each other and then snorted with laughter.

"It's just, no one's read that book except _me_!" Hermione whispered.

"Shh, shut up, shut up, something's happening!" Estelle shoved Hermione gently in the shoulder and they both became quiet, still trying to stifle muffled giggles. Terry gave them a weird look and they broke into gales of laughter again. Terry rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking away, but he was smiling.

Professor McGonagall had silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put that pointed frayed, patched, and dirty witch's hat from Dumbledore's office.

The hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - _Oh my God Neville was right,_ Estelle thought distantly - and the Hat began to sing:

 _"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat than me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,_

 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _The Sorting Hat can't see,_

 _So try me on and I will tell you_

 _Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_

 _Where dwell the brave at heart,_

 _Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

 _Set Gryffindors apart;_

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

 _Where they are just and loyal,_

 _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

 _And unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

 _If you've a ready mind,_

 _Where those of wit and learning_

 _Will always find their kind;_

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin_

 _You'll make your real friends_

 _Those cunning folk use any means_

 _To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

 _And don't get in a flap!_

 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

 _For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"What if we're not any of those things? Do we have to go home?" Estelle asked. Her friends shushed her, but she'd been rather serious.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Estelle saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Terry shrugged and waved goodbye. The table second from the left had clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy," went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; the red-haired twins and the dreadlocks boy from earlier were cat-calling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" became a Slytherin. Along with the clapping, there was lots of smirking and back-slapping, lots of "good jobs" from the Slytherin table.

Estelle watched in fascination as people went forward one by one. Sometimes, she noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Corner, Michael" spent some time with the hat before it declared him a Ravenclaw and he hurried off to sit next to Terry.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"... GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted after quite a long time. So Terry and Michael were ready-minded and Hermione was brave?

"Hopkins, Wayne" became a Hufflepuff. Wayne went off to sit next to Hannah at the table of hardworking, patient, just, and loyal. Estelle saw him smile and hold out his hand for a handshake. Yes, Wayne would be just fine.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

Neville fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag." Hermione patted him sympathetically on the shoulder as he sat down next to her, red-faced and humiliated.

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called, at least feigning confidence. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now, and now, despite her nervousness, Estelle was curious. Where would she fit in? How would she measure up?

"Moon"... "Nott"... "Parkinson"... then a pair of twin Indian girls, "Patil" and "Patil"... then, "Perks, Sally-Anne"... and then, at last -

"Potter, Estelle!"

As Estelle stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

" _Potter,_ did she say?"

" _The_ Estelle Rose Potter?"

The last thing Estelle saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. You have a sharp mind and wit and great creativity, but no, Ravenclaw is not for you. You are not interested in learning simply for learning's sake, only in what knowledge is useful to you, and there are other reasons why Ravenclaw is not your rightful place."

 _What do you mean?_ thought Estelle.

And the Hat began showing her a series of images:

Estelle using her magic to help herself steal food.

Estelle never considering using her magic to hurt others.

Estelle letting the snake loose for her own ends.

Those ends being a desperate cry for love and protection.

"Do you see my problem?" asked the Hat. Estelle's eyes had widened, vulnerable, as she stared into the blackness. "You're a perfect match for Slytherin. You're also a perfect match for Hufflepuff. You're cunning and witty, a true survivor with a sharp tongue and a certain disregard for the rules. Yet at the same time, you're essentially kind and loving - remarkable, considering what you've been through.

"No, I refuse to choose. I DECLARE A HATSTALL!" it shouted to the whole hall.

The hat was suddenly jerked off of Estelle's head. The buzz in the hall had heightened to a fever pitch.

"Does that mean I have to go back home?" Estelle asked, worried, looking with big eyes up at Professor McGonagall.

"No, Miss Potter," said McGonagall, smiling, "I was a hatstall myself, between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. It simply means the hat is caught between more than one house. You are in the unique position of being able to choose your house. You don't have to announce which house you choose and make enemies, but simply whisper the two options and your choice in my ear."

Estelle leaned over and whispered, "I was put between the two other houses. Hufflepuff and Slytherin. It said I was cunning _and_ kind."

McGonagall looked over at her sharply. "Are you sure?" She seemed to visibly restrain herself from saying further. "And -" She was reserved. "Make your choice."

Estelle looked from Hufflepuff to Slytherin. At the Hufflepuff table, there was the merry Fat Friar, and Wayne, Hannah, and Susan. At the Slytherin table was a horrible, gaunt ghost covered in chains and blood stains, and Draco Malfoy and his cronies.

"Hufflepuff," she whispered to the Professor. She knew she'd made the right choice when McGonagall smiled.

She stood and announced, "Estelle Potter is a Hatstall! She chooses Hufflepuff!"

"HA! Compared to what?!" Everyone looked around. Draco Malfoy had stood, sneering in positive delight. "She picked HUFFLEPUFF?!"

"SIT DOWN, MALFOY!"

And everyone looked around again. That had come from a rather fierce-looking dark-haired Hufflepuff prefect, who had stood, his teeth gritted, glaring.

"Quite right, Mr Malfoy, sit down," said Professor McGonagall, finding her sternest voice.

Malfoy sat down, and the entire Hufflepuff table cheered - and so, to Estelle's amazement, did Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

"Ha! At least the Slytherins didn't get her!" she heard one of the red-haired twins shout, as she walked uncertainly toward the Hufflepuff table. She felt like she'd just passed some sort of weird test.

"Good job, Miss Potter." The dark-haired Hufflepuff prefect took her hand and shook it vigorously. "Gabriel Truman. You won't be sorry you picked us!"

"Yes, welcome, Miss Potter, do take a seat, do take a seat!" said the delighted Fat Friar.

Estelle sat down next to Wayne, who shrugged and smiled sweetly. "Nice job," was all he could say. "Don't listen to Malfoy. Everyone knows Slytherins are as Dark as they come."

Estelle relaxed. " _Really_? So I did okay?"

Wayne laughed. "Yeah," he said. "You did." Susan and Hannah leaned over and beamed, waving.

"Hufflepuffs are seen as weaklings," Gabriel Truman admitted, nodding. "But that's just because we know how to hide."

"I am good at hiding," Estelle admitted, thinking of her time with the Dursleys, and of the way she didn't want to look powerful, but simply be left alone.

"Yeah. And everyone likes us," said Gabriel. "You can't say _that_ of the Slytherins."

The Great Hall was awash in amazement.

"I can't believe it!"

"She was a Hatstall! She's a Hufflepuff!"

 _Yup,_ Estelle thought, _I'm the Hatstall Hufflepuff half-Slytherin with the exploding wand that has the famous core connection. I'm different._ She supposed she was okay with that.

"Alright, everyone settle down!" Dumbledore finally shouted, standing to his feet and waving his hands. The hubbub subsided. But Estelle could see a certain amusement in Dumbledore's eye. He looked in her direction and gave her a tiny nod. Then he sat down again.

Estelle could see the High Table properly now. Hagrid sat at one end. Professor Quirrell sat toward the middle, looking very peculiar in a large purple turban. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Dumbledore himself. His silver beard was the only thing on the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts.

There were only a few people left to be sorted now. Among them were "Turpin, Lisa", dark-haired and bespectacled, and she was made a Ravenclaw. She went to sit with Terry and Michael. And the red-haired, shabby boy was "Weasley, Ronald", and he was made a Gryffindor. He went to sit with Neville and Hermione.

Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

And thus did Estelle Potter become a Hufflepuff with a vine and phoenix feather wand.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Estelle gave an amused little smile. Albus Dumbledore was interesting, she thought. He'd placed her with the Dursleys, but she couldn't help liking him.

Estelle looked down, and her eyes widened. The dishes in front of her, previously empty, were now suddenly piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and peppermint humbugs, she supposed for after the meal.

Estelle had never been allowed to eat as much as she liked before - at least, not until a month ago. She'd begun to enjoy cooking and eating food simply for herself, but this was on much larger a scale. She felt she could really fill up, eating at Hogwarts every day. She piled her plate with roast beef, sausages, bacon and steak, roast potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding, and put a peppermint humbug beside her plate for after she was finished. She began to eat. It was all delicious. Those mysterious elves had really outdone themselves.

"It's all so good, isn't it?" said the Fat Friar, smiling. "It was even when I was a student here hundreds of years ago, too. And as you can see, my relationship with food became a lifelong love!" He laughed and patted his large belly. "Of course, I can't eat anymore, now that I'm dead. But I'm content. I enjoyed food enough while I was alive."

"I suppose that's a good way of looking at things," said Estelle. "So - I'm curious. Most of the wizarding world is Pagan. I'm thinking of druids and druidesses and Wiccan spiritual leaders. But you're a Friar, and those are Catholic." She wasn't sure how to voice the question without sounding rude, so she ended it there.

"Yes," said the Friar. "This opinion of mine has always been unpopular, but I believe the Bible truly teaches us not to judge our fellow man. I think people warp the Bible to suit their own needs - whether it's to burn witches and wizards, cage and electrocute the mentally ill, enslave people who aren't white, or deny basic rights to people with loose sexuality. The Bible does not teach any of this. The Bible teaches kindness and tolerance. That's what I think. Wizards and witches aren't solely Satanic - Satan uses to be an angel, after all. God has Satan's powers; Satan has God's. It's not the power, it's what you do with it that counts.

"Good question," he added, smiling. "I don't usually get such intellectual commentary from a student!"

"Yeah, was your other choice Ravenclaw?" Wayne asked teasingly, and everybody laughed. Estelle smiled politely.

"Speaking of other choices," said Gabriel, leaning toward the first years, "and I'm not going to judge. Who here was disappointed when they learned they were a Hufflepuff?"

Several sheepish first years raised their hands.

"Right," said Gabriel, nodding. "There are a lot of rumors about Hufflepuffs. So let's put a few rumors to rest. First, let's focus on what Hufflepuffs _are_. The hat said some traits: trustworthy, loyal, hard-working. We're also friendly, decent, tenacious, and we're seen as the kindest house in the school. Those are all positive traits, and you were put here because you exemplify them. Our emblem is the badger, an animal that is often underestimated, because it lives quietly until attacked, but which, when provoked, can fight off animals much larger than itself, including wolves. This ties into what I want to tell you about Hufflepuff.

"Now, there are a few things you should know about Hufflepuff house. First of all, let's deal with a perennial myth about the place, which is that we're the least clever house. WRONG. Hufflepuff is certainly the least boastful house, but we've produced just as many brilliant witches and wizards as any other. Want proof? Look up Grogan Stump, one of the most popular Ministers for Magic of all time. He was a Hufflepuff – as were the successful Ministers Artemesia Lufkin and Dugald McPhail. Then there's the world authority on magical creatures, Newt Scamander; Bridget Wenlock, the famous thirteenth-century Arithmancer who first discovered the magical properties of the number seven, and Hengist of Woodcroft, who founded the all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade, which lies very near Hogwarts School. Hufflepuffs all.

"So, as you can see, we've produced more than our fair share of powerful, brilliant and daring witches and wizards, but, just because we don't shout about it, we don't get the credit we deserve. Ravenclaws, in particular, assume that any outstanding achiever must have come from their house. I got into big trouble during my third year for duelling a Ravenclaw prefect who insisted that Bridget Wenlock had come from his house, not mine. I should have got a week of detentions, but Professor Sprout let me off with a warning and a box of coconut ice."

He pointed to their head of house, a tiny, squat little witch with flyaway grey hair sitting at the High Table.

"Hufflepuffs are trustworthy and loyal," Gabriel continued. "We don't shoot our mouths off, but cross us at your peril; like our emblem, the badger, we will protect ourselves, our friends and our families against all-comers. Nobody intimidates us.

"However, it's true that Hufflepuff is a bit lacking in one area. We've produced the fewest Dark wizards of any house in this school. Of course, you'd expect Slytherin to churn out evil-doers, seeing as they've never heard of fair play and prefer cheating over hard work any day, but even Gryffindor (the house we get on best with) has produced a few dodgy characters.

"So, what I'm saying is, you were actually put into a very good house. It's a positive that you're a Hufflepuff, not a negative.

"I must say, I hope some of you are good Quidditch players. Hufflepuff hasn't done as well as I'd like in the Quidditch tournament lately," he added.

"I do feel better," Sally-Anne Perks admitted, and the others nodded.

"Excellent!" said Gabriel. "Now why don't you all go around the table and introduce yourselves?"

"I'm Ernie MacMillan," said a plump boy, waving.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," said a boy with curly blonde hair.

"Wayne Hopkins," said Wayne, smiling, thin and blue-eyed with wavy hair.

"Sally-Anne Perks," said a girl with a strawberry blonde ponytail.

"Susan Bones," said a braided redhead matter of factly.

"Hannah Abbott," said Hannah shyly, blushing, round-faced and pink-cheeked.

"Megan Jones," said a brunette, smiling.

"And of course, as you all know, I'm Estelle Rose Potter," said Estelle.

"D'you go by Estelle or Estelle Rose?" Ernie asked. "I need to know because you're, like, my new best friend."

Estelle laughed. "I go by Estelle," she said.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

As Estelle helped herself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to families and classes.

Ernie was a Pureblood but he didn't mind Halfbloods and Muggleborns, Justin was a Muggleborn who'd been down for Eton, and Wayne of course was a Halfblood. Susan was a Pureblood whose family had been decimated in the last war against Voldemort; her aunt was a judge in the Wizengamot. Hannah was a Muggleborn who was too shy to say much about herself, Megan was a Muggleborn who had a _lot_ to say about herself, and Sally-Anne was a cheerful, peppy, but kind Halfblood.

They also asked Gabriel what their classes would be like. He told them they'd start small - from flying, where they'd start out with hovering up and down, to Transfiguration, where they'd be turning matches into needles, to Defense, where they'd learn how to send sparks at people. "A lot of it will be theory," said Gabriel. "You'll get a strong grounding in magical theory before you move on to bigger things."

Estelle, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

The hook nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Estelle's eyes, quite suddenly. And Estelle couldn't decipher the expression there. Was it one of sadness? Longing? Curiosity? It was a positively haunted look. It was almost like he already knew her, or was seeing someone else in her place.

Estelle's eyes moved to the back of Quirrell's turban - and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on her forehead.

"Ouch!" Estelle clapped a hand to her head.

"Is something wrong?" asked more than one person at the Hufflepuff table in concern.

"N-no. I'm fine." The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Estelle looked up just in time to see the hook-nosed teacher look quickly back at Quirrell, as if discerning. He had noticed Estelle's moment of pain too, and in a subtle way, he seemed to wonder about it.

But why would Estelle's scar hurt when she looked at Quirrell's turban? And why had she gotten the sudden feeling the hook-nosed teacher had already met her?

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked Gabriel.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to - everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape. Unsurprisingly, he's head of Slytherin house."

So why would the Dark wizard seem longing and sad when he looked at her? And why would the stuttering, timid, supposedly Light Quirrell's turban make her scar hurt? It was all very peculiar.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term noticed to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used in between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Estelle's eyes widened. "Is he serious?" she asked disbelievingly. Very few people had laughed - very few indeed.

"He must be," said Gabriel, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere - the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. So is the lake, for that matter. Hogwarts doubles as a magical creature conservation site. Even the plants in some of the Herbology greenhouses can turn deadly.

"But this kind of thing - I've never heard of it before." He looked genuinely puzzled, and he was at least fifteen.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. He gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

 _"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

 _Teach us something please,_

 _Whether we be old and bald_

 _Or young with scabby knees,_

 _Our heads could do with filling_

 _With some interesting stuff,_

 _For now they're bare and full of air,_

 _Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

 _So teach us things worth knowing,_

 _Bring back what we've forgot,_

 _Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

 _And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everybody finished the song at different times. Estelle was laughing through half of hers. At last, only the red-headed Gryffindor twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Hufflepuff first years followed Gabriel through the chattering crowds and out of the Great Hall. "Is he always like that?" Estelle asked curiously, running up to walk beside Gabriel.

"Oh, yes. In case you couldn't tell from the star-spangled robes, the twinkling eyes, and the high singing voice, Dumbledore is what might be called 'flaming gay.' Seems rather proud of it, too. He's an eccentric - enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling, always has a bowl of candy nearby, collects odd magical instruments no one except him knows the use of, and he has a pet phoenix. No one knows how he got it because nobody's been brave enough to ask him.

"He's a genius, though," Gabriel added as an afterthought. "Absolutely brilliant, very powerful, and a good headmaster. Unless you don't like Muggleborns. He's very Muggle-supportive, Dumbledore. He used to be a Gryffindor."

Estelle expected the Hufflepuffs to go up the marble staircase, but instead Gabriel turned right in the entrance hall and went through a door, down a flight of stone steps. They ended up in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food.

"Are we underground?" Estelle asked.

"Yes," said Gabriel. "We're one floor underground. Our common room is right next to the kitchen, so I'll show you the kitchen first. All Hufflepuffs know how to get into the kitchen for a late-night snack."

They went in front of a picture of a giant fruit-bowl, and Gabriel tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Gabriel seized it, pulled the door open, and led the Hufflepuff first years inside.

They were in an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end. The kitchen was filled with curious creatures, all in the same uniform of a tea towel stamped in the Hogwarts crest and tied like a toga. The creatures had large, bat-like ears, bulging eyes, and long, thin noses. They were very small.

"These are the Hogwarts house elves," said Gabriel. "House elves - these are the newest Hufflepuffs."

The house elves all bowed and curtsied. "Very pleased to meet you, sirs and misses!" they said in high, shrill voices.

"Now, let me show you how close the common room is," said Gabriel, and he led the first years back out of the kitchen. The door closed and disappeared, the doorknob promptly turning into a painted pear again.

They turned right, and stopped in front of a stack of large barrels in a nook of the corridor. Gabriel demonstrated, saying, "Tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', and the lid will swing open. We are the only house at Hogwarts that also has a repelling device for would-be intruders. If the wrong lid is tapped, or if the rhythm of the tapping is wrong, the illegal entrant is doused in vinegar.

"You will hear other houses boast of their security arrangements, but it so happens that in more than a thousand years, the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories have never been seen by outsiders. Like badgers, we know exactly how to lie low – and how to defend ourselves."

The barrel swung open. They crawled, one by one, inside and along the passageway behind it. They emerged into a very cozy common room. It was round and earthy and low-ceilinged; it felt sunny inside despite the fact that it was nighttime, and the circular windows had a magically conjured view of rippling grass and dandelions.

There was a lot of burnished copper about the place, and many plants, which either hung from the ceiling or sat on windowsills.

Gabriel explained, "Our Head of House, Professor Pomona Sprout, is Head of Herbology, and she brings the most interesting specimens (some of which dance and talk) to decorate our common room - one reason why Hufflepuffs are often very good at Herbology."

"Hello!" said a hanging potted flower to Estelle brightly as she walked forward, looking around the common room in fascination. The overstuffed sofas and chairs were upholstered in yellow and black, and the whole room gave off an aura of cozy, sunny happiness.

"The dormitories are that way," said Gabriel, pointing toward two round doors in the walls of the common room. "Right for boys, left for girls."

Estelle and her four dormmates went through the round door, along a corridor, and found the room with a plaque labeled _First Years_. They went inside, and found copper lamps which cast a warm light over five four-posters, all of which were decorated with patchwork quilts. Copper bed-warmers hung on the walls.

"They even have accommodations in case we have cold feet," said Megan wonderingly, going over to examine the bed-warmers.

Food, warmth, and sunshine, thought Estelle - the three things a person needed most to be happy and comfortable.

Their trunks had already been brought up. "I wonder where my owl Hedwig is?" said Estelle as she went over to the trunk by her bed.

"Probably in the Owlery," said Sally-Anne knowledgeably. "I heard that's where all the owls go to roost."

"Yeah, don't worry, Hogwarts will take care of Hedwig. She's fine," said Susan, yawning.

Hannah's cat slid by Estelle's feet, meowing softly.

Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and nightgowns and fell into bed. They fell asleep quickly and comfortably. It was blissfully silent underground, where they were protected from storms and winds, water and howling.

Perhaps Estelle had eaten a bit too much, because she had a very bizarre dream. Snape was trying to reach her, his hand stretching out, but she was just beyond his reach; Snape turned into Malfoy, with the same look of longing on his face; then Malfoy turned into a handsome, pale, dark-haired man, and he reached out and grabbed Estelle in a vice-grip, smirking. She struggled and tried to get away, but she couldn't. Then the dark-haired man opened his mouth and laughed, a high, cold laugh - there was a burst of green light, and a pain in Estelle's forehead - and then all of a sudden everything paused and went backward in reverse. The light retreated, the laugh faded, and the dark-haired man was left with a vulnerable expression.

Estelle woke with a start and the strangest feeling that the pale, dark-haired man with his pleading dark brown eyes needed her help.

She rolled over and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, scribbling down the dream by the light of the candle beside her bed. (They each had a bedstand and a set of dresser drawers; hers was conveniently located near the water pitcher and the bathroom.) Once she'd finished scribbling, she rolled over and fell asleep. It was a good thing she'd written the dream down, because when she frowned down at the piece of parchment the next morning, she didn't remember the dream at all.

Yet it filled her with a sense of foreboding.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

Over the next few days, Estelle became close to a few select Hufflepuff friends - Wayne, Hannah, and Susan. That was not to say she didn't like Megan, Sally-Anne, Justin, or Ernie. She did. But Justin and Ernie paired off, as did Megan and Sally-Anne, while the other three stayed with Estelle. Susan was matter-of-fact and no-nonsense, Hannah was sweet and kind and shy, and Wayne was, well, Wayne. Sweet and amazingly nice and mild-mannered, but with a mischievous boyish side.

Which was why these whispers could be heard as Estelle passed in the corridors:

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the round-faced blonde pigtailed girl, the girl in the red braid, and the tall wavy blond haired guy."

"The pretty little pale crimson-haired girl?"

"Did you see her face?"

"Did you see her scar?"

Whispers like these followed Estelle from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People would come up to her and shamelessly ask for things like pictures and autographs. The shyer ones lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her again in the corridors, staring. It didn't help that they were all staring because of the feature Estelle had always felt most self-conscious of. Estelle wished they wouldn't, because she was trying to concentrate on finding her way to her classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, doors hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Estelle was sure the coats of armor could talk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. One of the girl's restrooms was haunted, for one thing. Estelle had found this out the hard way. She sat down and started to pee, when a female voice just below her shrieked, "STOP PEEING ON ME!" Estelle had leaped, white-faced, off the toilet, to find the ghost of a plump, pimply, bespectacled thirteen-year-old girl rising up out of the U-bend and shrieking tearfully at her to get out. Estelle later found out that this ghost was called Moaning Myrtle, because she was always crying and moaning, and that this had been Myrtle in a good mood. Everyone avoided that bathroom like the plague.

It was also always a nasty shock when one of the ghosts glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. The Fat Friar was excellent to come across if you were lost and in need of directions, or even if you were in any kind of trouble. (Once, some boy made fun of Megan and stole her hairpin; when she went crying to the Far Friar, he moved mountains to get the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost, to scare the boy into giving the hairpin back.)

But Peeves the resident Poltergeist, a floating little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth, was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs out from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and shriek, "GOT YOUR CONK!" Estelle once tried to throw a curse at Peeves, who retaliated by floating around behind her and shrieking rude words at her in between classes in the corridors for the rest of the day. Draco Malfoy laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. He was a withered old man with long thin hair and a nasty temper. He would saddle students with detention on even suspicion of rule-breaking; he didn't need to see the actual rule being broken. He patrolled the corridors, shouting at random students, and whenever someone made a big mess or broke something important you could hear him yelling from all the way on a different floor.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch's. She, too, patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good kick.

Hagrid the groundskeeper lived in a small hut on the edge of the forbidden forest. He could often be seen stalking about the grounds in his big boots and jacket, carrying animals or plants or gardening materials. Most people were too scared to go up and talk to him, but when Estelle finally approached him to ask him where the Herbology greenhouses were, he beamed and responded in quite a friendly matter. Talking in his big, booming voice, he immediately pointed them in the right direction. "You look a lot like your Mum, you do," he'd said as she'd left, and Estelle had smiled.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Later on in their Hogwarts career, they would begin to connect this to magical energy theory. This was the only class the Hufflepuffs had with the Slytherins, up at the top of the cold Astronomy tower late at night, and Draco always made sure he was Estelle's Astronomy partner at the telescopes (which Professor Sinistra always approved, naively believing she was "fostering inter-house relations") so that he could poke her repeatedly and make sarcastic, sniping comments throughout all of class.

"You know, I am _trying_ to learn something," Estelle had said at last, glaring over at him.

Draco smirked. "Aww, look guys," he said, "the cute little Hufflepuff girl is trying to be scary!" The rest of the Slytherins snickered.

So Estelle poked his arm with a tingle of magic and a burning sensation went all up and down it. He shrieked and leaped away, telling the teacher immediately, "She cursed me!"

Professor Sinistra, a young Black woman who often seemed a bit overwhelmed by her rowdier students, turned to Estelle suspiciously. Estelle held up her hands, eyes widening innocently. "My wand is still in the pocket of my robes, Professor," she said, and so she was let off.

Draco sat down grumpily next to her, pouting, and it was Estelle's turn to snicker.

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle with the Gryffindors (Estelle's lab table was always shared by Ron, Neville, and Hermione) to study Herbology. Professor Sprout had high expectations of her students, but she was friendly and easygoing enough when it came to class management, and she was an expert in Herbology - there was always dirt on her clothes and under her fingernails, to go with her wild hair. Here, they got dirty and sweaty taking care of all the strange plants and fungi, and finding out what they were used for. Estelle, used to years of flower gardening and also being a Hufflepuff, excelled in this class. Then they would all use the showers to clean themselves off and head back up to the castle.

All their other classes in those first few days were Hufflepuff-only, and there Estelle sat with Hannah, Susan, and Wayne.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took roll call, and when he reached Estelle's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Estelle turned out to be good at Charms - not out of any natural talent, but because she'd practiced her magic over the summer and could wandlessly sense and channel it from years of experience, which seemed to give her a head start over basically everybody else.

Professor McGonagall was strict and clever. She gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will be learning at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Estelle had made any difference in her match, and that was because she'd been practicing Transfiguration for a solid month. Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Estelle one of her small, rare smiles.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would come back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, a rumor started going around that when Seamus Finnigan from Gryffindor had asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather. For another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and it most definitely did not emanate an "African prince" sort of aura.

Nevertheless, as this was another wand-based class, Estelle was ahead of the curve here too.

"N-nice work today, M-Miss Potter," said Professor Quirrell as she was leaving his room after their second class.

"I just work hard, sir," said Estelle, with a mild smile.

"Th-the Hufflepuff b-byword, eh?"

"Afraid so." Estelle left quickly. She wasn't sure if it was that moment with her scar and his turban in the Great Hall or not, but Quirrell always gave her a creepy feeling and she didn't like being around him when she was alone.

Not that it was all classes. For one thing, Professor Sprout arranged for a meeting with each new Hufflepuff student in the first week. When she sat down with Estelle in her office in the castle, she said, "I'm not going to treat you any better or any worse because you're famous Potter. Expect to be treated fairly - like everybody else."

"That's all I ask for, ma'am," said Estelle, and at this Professor Sprout had smiled and asked her how classes were going. Estelle quickly became fond of Professor Sprout. She often bustled into the common room with some new plant, giving her students previews of what was ahead in lessons, from next year to next week, and impromptu lessons of sorts were often had in the common room, which was full of the singing and talking of plants in addition to people.

Estelle made sure to carve out time for her friends in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor as well. In addition to her current friends, Hermione, Neville, Michael, Terry, and Lisa, she also made friends with - and added online - the Weasley brothers: Ron, Percy, and the twins Fred and George. All redheaded, all Gryffindor, and all fairly poor. Fred and George pretended to make a big deal about her fame just to embarrass her, Percy shook her hand formally and then Fred and George switched to making fun of _him_ , and Ron (the youngest) apologized sheepishly on behalf of his "idiot brothers." Fred and George were mock indignant; Percy really _was_ indignant.

Some things were unique to being a girl, Estelle thought. It was funny the first time a boy tried to get into the girls' dorms. He shrieked and leaped away, landing on his ass, as the front of the door suddenly grew protruding spikes. That was when Estelle learned a fun fact: the boys couldn't get into the girls' dorms, but the _girls_ could get into the _boys'._

The first year Hufflepuff girls had a sleepover in their very first week, eating snacks from the kitchen, painting their nails, and doing facial masks. At the same time, rooming with girls could often be dramatic in a way it really wasn't with boys. Estelle had to play the peacekeeper in a petty feud between best friends Megan and Sally-Anne in her very first week, each accusing the other in high, shrieking tones of hogging all the dorm room shower time.

Everyone quieted down with their laptops and iPhones every night in their beds before going to sleep. Estelle exchanged phone numbers and WandOn accounts with Gabriel Truman, Professors Sprout and McGonagall, and all her fellow Hufflepuff first years.

And then on Thursday morning, Estelle got her first piece of mail.

"What have we got today?" she asked Wayne and Susan as she poured sugar on her porridge.

"Double Potions with the Ravenclaws," said Wayne, looking over his schedule. "They say the Ravenclaws always act like they're better than the Hufflepuffs - we'll be able to see if it's true."

Just then, the mail arrived. Estelle had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Estelle anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble Estelle's ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Estelle's plate. Estelle looked over it curiously, before tearing it open to look inside. She recognized the neat handwriting as Professor McGonagall's.

 _Miss Potter -_

 _I thought I would send you this message by letter so that Malfoy boy doesn't jump all over the fact that you aren't getting any mail. I shall be sending you a new letter every Thursday. This letter has a purpose. You get Friday afternoons off, so I am formally inviting you to tea with me in my office on Friday. Don't tell any of the other students about it or they'll call it favoritism. You don't have to accept. If you would like, however, we may make this a regular Friday occurrence._

 _Send me a letter back._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

Estelle grabbed a quill, scribbled, _Yes, please, see you later_ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

* * *

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. They each set up their cauldrons at firepits connected to work tables, Estelle between Terry and Lisa, Michael on Lisa's other side.

Mandy Brocklehurst sighed loudly. "I can't believe I have to learn Potions alongside a bunch of _stupid_ Hufflepuffs," she said loudly.

Estelle turned around, eyes narrowed, glaring. "And I can't believe I have to learn _anything_ alongside someone with gap teeth and the voice of a whiny toad," she snapped.

"Excuse me?!" Mandy shrieked indignantly, but even Terry had to stifle a chuckle.

Just then, Professor Snape swept in, his prowling walk emphasized by his long black cloak. "Silence," he said simply, in a harsh tone, and there was silence. Snape just had that sort of effect on people. He had cold, empty black eyes that made you think of dark tunnels, and though he spoke in barely more than a whisper, they caught every word. Snape, like McGonagall, had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

* * *

Severus Snape had heard the Ravenclaw girl's words, and Potter's defensive response. She was already becoming a Hufflepuff, disliking being underestimated.

Severus hadn't been sure what to think when Estelle Rose Potter had been made a Hufflepuff - after a Hatstall, no less. At least she wasn't a Gryffindor. Here, at last, was obvious proof she was not her parents. Yet when Severus looked at her… He couldn't help it. He saw Lily.

Then she would look up at him with James's round hazel eyes, instead of Lily's gleaming almond-shaped green, and he would become unnerved.

He told himself he would simply treat her like any other stupid Hufflepuff, but it was hard when near a carbon copy of Lily was sitting right in front of him. The instinct rose within him, to defend her, to mock the person who had hurt Lily. In a twisted way, Severus wished the Potter child had been a boy. It would have been easier to think of a boy as James's. As she was, she just became Lily - Lily's daughter.

There wasn't any sort of attraction there, because there hadn't been, really, not when they were children. But there was a great deal of fondness, and he resented it.

So how could he defend Estelle Potter without breaking his facade and letting the girl know that he cared?

He started by taking roll, thinking. He knew he paused and looked up, reflexively, at Estelle's name. He could make fun of her, avoid making people he was some celebrity-obsessed idiot, but somehow making fun of a girl who looked exactly like Lily left a bad taste in his mouth. It brought up bad memories.

Damn. Class was just starting, and he was already in shreds.

None of it showed outwardly. He looked up, and began his usual speech quietly: "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly think this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Several students looked intimidated. Potter looked fascinated. Perhaps there was some hope for her - her father would have made some sort of bored joke by now. Perhaps she was like her mother, after all. His worst nightmare had been of a girl who looked just like Lily, but twisted Lily's name, acting exactly like James. But this girl wasn't so bad. So far.

He decided to test her: "Potter," he said, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Potter blinked. "A sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death," she reeled off.

"Very good. And where, Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

"Well, I'd have to cut a goat open and reach into its stomach, sir." Estelle smiled, a light of mischief that was perhaps her father's dancing in her eyes. "Rather nasty business, I'm afraid."

"Sometimes, Miss Potter, Potions is nasty business," said Severus, outwardly stoical, but inside he was pleased. The girl was intelligent - she'd not only done her reading, she'd practiced and studied hard. "And what can a bezoar do?"

"You stuff it down someone's throat and it can save them from almost any poison."

"Crass, but essentially correct, yes." Suddenly, he turned to the Ravenclaw girl. "Brocklehurst. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Mandy Brocklehurst's eyes widened. She blinked repeatedly. "I - er - I - er - they're different colors," she said, feigning confidence.

Severus had her. "Potter," he said in a bored voice, not even looking at Estelle, "I'm sure you'll be able to tell me. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There is none, sir," said Estelle, amused. "They're the same plant. It also goes by the name of aconite."

"Well," said Severus with quiet sarcasm, his eyes widening slightly, "I can clearly see where the intelligence will be placed in _this_ class." Even one of Potter's countless little followers, Boot, bristled slightly. But the Hufflepuffs, including Estelle, looked surprised and happy.

He'd forgotten just what that smile looked like.

* * *

Professor Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Estelle's years of cooking experience helped her here, and she easily took charge of the potion brewing process, doing all the hard things herself and directing Terry toward easier chores. Their potion went quite well.

Professor Snape seemed to think so, too. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone - except Estelle. He came over to compliment her countless times, often holding her up as an example of what should be done in the potion-brewing process. He was not the first teacher to give her points for doing well in class, but they were still nice to have.

All the Ravenclaws outside Estelle's circle of friends looked quite resentful by the time the potion-brewing process was over.

"Got a crush on the teacher, Potter?" Brocklehurst asked nastily as they climbed the steps out of the dungeons later. "What are you doing for him so he'll give you those kinds of marks, huh?"

"Miss Brocklehurst, I wonder, how many points from Ravenclaw should I take for that little comment?"

Mandy froze. Snape was right behind her.

"How many times did I tell you what you were doing was wrong, Brocklehurst?" Mandy stared at her feet, and said nothing. "Potter." Snape turned to her with a calm, wicked smile. "How many times did I criticize Miss Brocklehurst?"

"Three, sir," said Estelle, trying not to smile. "Not including the question."

"Ah, right. So forty points from Ravenclaw, I think."

"Forty?!" All the Ravenclaws looked up in disbelief.

"Did I speak in some strange foreign language? Yes, that's what I said, forty. No one likes braggarts, Miss Brocklehurst. Especially unwarranted ones."

Mandy ran away in tears and Estelle felt rather bad.

"... Thank you, sir," she said cautiously, as Snape went to leave.

He paused, his back to her. "For what?" he said flatly, and walked away.

"Wow, Estelle. What _did_ you say to him?" said Terry wonderingly.

"I don't know. He's been behaving oddly toward me since the start of term," Estelle admitted, staring after Professor Snape.

All her Ravenclaw friends were rather cross with her for several days afterward. None of the Ravenclaws in Potions tried to pick on Estelle again.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Estelle went to McGonagall's first floor study door and knocked. The door opened moments later, and McGonagall ushered Estelle into the room. It was sparsely decorated, with a wide oak desk, stone floors, a massive fireplace, and windows overlooking the Quidditch pitch and training grounds.

"Take a seat by the fire," said McGonagall formally, pouring Estelle some tea. Earl grey, of course. "And how have your classes been?" said McGonagall, sitting down.

Estelle told her everything: the good, the bad, the ugly. She asked Professor McGonagall about the odder characters, like Filch and Snape. McGonagall only said, reserved: "I don't gossip about my coworkers."

But she did give Estelle pointers on magic and insights into what would be coming in the days to follow.

At the end of the afternoon, Estelle saw a Daily Prophet article titled **Gringotts Break-In Latest** underneath the tea cozy. It reminded her of something she'd wanted to ask.

"Professor," she said, "is the Gringotts thief after the object that was moved on Hogwarts business?"

McGonagall nearly dropped her cup of tea in surprise. "Miss Potter," she said after a moment, "I highly recommend you involve yourself in this no further."

In other words, thought Estelle as she left, the answer was _yes. **  
**_


End file.
